Inner
by California Kat
Summary: A Season 5 "revision" / but with an Eric/Sookie endgame in mind.
1. Chapter 1: Cleaning Up

[_**A/N:**_ Hello—First of all, I am **NOT** abandoning _Come Back to Me_. I swear it! I have had a long week and just watched the premier of _True Blood_, Season 5 for the second time, and I knew that something needed to be done about it! So, I'm going to do something. I'm going against my usual story-writing practice, and I'll be posting a couple of chapters of this story each week—as I write them—and I will let what happens in the episodes dictate where I go next. That means that the chapters might not be edited as well as I usually edit. So please forgive me. My goal for this story is to write quickly and edit only once, which means that I WILL miss things.

If you know my writing, you know that I generally write out a whole story before I even think about posting, but—oh well—experimentation is good for the soul.

I think that most of this story will be from Eric's point of view too. If you have read my stuff, you know that I'm an unabashed Sookie/Eric pairing person, so I am going to warp this story (Season 5) toward an E/S endgame no matter what idiocy happens during the season. So expect me to be twisty, but NOT move from the TB episode storyline too much. That means that a lot of this story will be from Eric's thoughts.

Also, I have to say that this story is _especially_ for my dear Scorp/CDB33. (The puns are especially for her.) She's my sounding board on story matters, and she wanted me to "fix it," and then she feared that the episode couldn't be fixed, so that felt like a challenge to me. And I love a good challenge. Enjoy. I'll be editing the next chapter of _CBTM_ next. So expect it tomorrow by the afternoon if you are a reader of that story.

Finally, I don't own the characters in _True Blood _or the _Southern Vampire Mysteries_. So neither copyright infringement or offense in meant. I simply want to make the characters do what I want them to do for a while.]

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**Inner**

**Chapter One: Cleaning Up**

"Fuck Sookie Stackhouse," Eric Northman said to himself as he flung a particularly nasty piece of Nan Flannigan goop into his trash bag. He briefly looked up from his "speed cleaning" and caught sight of Bill talking to Jessica on the phone.

He shook his head and went back to his task. They didn't fucking have time to have drawn out conversations right now. And that was why he wasn't going to be calling Pam—well, that and because he was fucking pissed at her right now for almost killing Sookie.

"Fuck Sookie," he said to himself again. Not half an hour before, she'd rejected him—rejected _both_ Bill and him. He looked up at Bill again, shaking his head. If someone would have told him a week ago that he would have things in common with Bill fucking Compton, he would have doled out the true death to him or her, but _much_ can change in a week's time.

Eric knew about the fickle nature of time better than most beings in the world. He knew that it could progress without change for a century. He'd dwelt within the drudgery of endless, mindless routine.

But he also knew that time could speed up and that many changes could happen all at once, and the previous week had been one of those periods.

Yes—his attitude about Bill Compton _had_ changed, partially because of what they now had in common: Sookie Stackhouse. Both of them loved her—of _that_ Eric was certain. He knew his own mind, and though he hated having this particular emotion, he was not one to lie to himself. And Eric could recognize that Bill loved Sookie too.

In addition, they had both fallen in love with her "accidentally." Bill had been sent by the insipid bitch-queen, Sophie-Anne—may she rest in many, _many_ pieces. Eric smiled at his own pun as he sprayed a bit of cleaner on Bill's desk. Bill's orders had been to find out about Sookie and seduce her if she was a good prospect for the queen's little collection of "interesting beings." He was to find out if Sookie was telepathic and then manipulate her using glamour to come to the queen. When glamour didn't work, Bill had been ordered to use his blood. When that also didn't seem to work, Bill was ordered to make her fall in love with him. But Bill had _accidentally_ fallen in love too.

Falling in love with Sookie had been an accident for Eric too. However, falling in lust with her was purposeful—though uncontrollable. Hell, with the way she looked, the way she smelled, and the way she defied him, it was fucking inevitable.

But falling in love with her had _not_ been part of the plan.

But if he were honest, his love for her had been coming on for a while now. And that fact just pissed him off even more!

"Fuck Sookie Stackhouse," he thought to himself.

That fucking slap in the basement of Fangtasia had probably been the first thing that had started to change his lust into something different—something _more_. Of course, getting his blood into her in Dallas hadn't helped matters. Even now, he fucking adored the feeling of his blood travelling through her body.

He closed his eyes as he flung more Nan into the trash.

_Yes_—he loved the feeling of his blood in Sookie. Even now, it was moved inside of her, telling him where she was and what she was feeling. He was guessing that she'd stopped at her Gran's grave. She was heartbroken.

"Fuck Sookie," he said once more to himself. She fucking deserved to be heartbroken!

She had _made_ him love her. _She'd_ been the one to look both so fucking strong _and_ so frightened in the Fellowship's church in Dallas. _She'd_ been the one who put aside her revulsion in mere moments to suck silver from him when she'd thought he was dying. _She'd_ been the one to take his hand and send him her caring on the morning Godric had met the sun. How she'd affected him so much that morning after taking just a bit of his blood was still a fucking mystery to him.

Yes—it was all _her_ fault. _She'd_ cried in his bar after Bill had gone missing. And that was just one night after _she'd_ stood defiantly in front of him in the basement of Fangtasia as he'd stood naked before her. She'd _never_ been afraid of him—though he'd tried to make her be many times. But no—Sookie Stackhouse couldn't fucking cooperate!

And then she'd disappeared for a whole fucking year! And he'd been left with an empty feeling—not quite love, but close. But she just had to fucking come back! Of course, he'd wanted her to come back. But at the same time, things would have been easier if she'd just stayed in the fairy world.

He shook his head and picked up another trash bag to toss in one of the gay storm trooper's heads.

"Fuck her," he said to himself once more.

When she'd come back, life had been breathed into him again. But she had also pissed him off!

He'd bought her house and fixed it up, but did he get a thank you? No fucking way. Not from Sookie Stackhouse.

Everyone else, including Bill, had given up on her, but did she show any fucking appreciation? No—not Sookie Stackhouse.

She'd once more denied and defied him. Yes—Sookie Stackhouse had been a battering ram against all of the barricades he'd placed around his undead heart for as long as he could fucking remember.

And when he'd been unable to remember—when the necromancer had taken away his memories—well that was when all those barricades were brought down. And he both loved her and hated her for doing that.

He looked up at Bill again and dragged the back of his gloved hand across his forehead. His monarch was still on the fucking phone, and Eric Northman was no one's fucking maid! Sure the Nan mess had to be dealt with, but he didn't want to do it a-fucking-lone!

He looked at Bill pointedly. "How about rapping it up? I could use a hand here."

Bill almost rolled his eyes but then picked up a pair of gloves and dug into the blood stains on the carpet.

Eric sighed and continued cleaning Nan off the walls.

Strangely enough, he didn't _mind_ Bill right then. His monarch had proven himself a decent strategist during the necromancer episode, and they'd teamed up to fight her together and to save Sookie's life.

"Fuck Sookie," he said to himself. He didn't even want to think about how close she'd come to dying.

He once more raised the back of his hand up to get his bangs out of his face; they were beginning to fall because of the activity of the night. But Sookie loved running her fingers through them.

"Fuck Sookie," he thought yet again. He turned his thoughts a bit.

Yes—he and Bill had even more in common now. They'd both been rejected by Sookie and they'd teamed up to end Nan. Sure—they'd done it because she was going to kill them. But there were maneuvers that could have been made to ally themselves with Nan since she'd been "fired" by the Authority.

Yes—they could have avoided killing Nan. But she knew about Sookie. Neither one of them had needed to speak to each other to know what they were going to do. It had been an easy choice for both of them. Kill Nan and make sure that Sookie's abilities remained a secret.

Bill and he had made a good team—_again_.

Eric knew that he should have hated Bill—hated him because he was competition, because Sookie loved him too. But he couldn't bring himself to hate Bill.

It was—as it turned out—pretty fucking hard to hate someone who had saved your life. Sure—Bill had reported his amnesia to the Authority and had, therefore, been the reason behind their death sentence for him. But Eric couldn't really blame him. He would have done the same thing.

But Bill _hadn't_ killed him.

Eric knew that—in his state of amnesia—he would have let his monarch kill him. Hell, the stake had been poised. The last requests had been made. But Bill had _not_ killed him. Bill had acted with honor and had let him go—even though he knew Eric was going straight to Sookie.

Bill had proven himself not to be petty. And Eric wasn't about to be shown up by him.

He'd been taught better by both his human father and his vampire father.

Plus, truth be told, _none_ of this was Bill's fault. It was _Sookie_ who should have made a fucking choice rather than chicken shit her way out of it. Eric understood that she loved them both. He'd been beaten down by that thought, but he understood. However, Bill had gotten his chance.

Had Sookie given him one? _No_. Once he'd gotten his memories back, she'd just _assumed_ that he couldn't or wouldn't love her. Or maybe she thought he wasn't good enough. If that was the case, she was fucking delusional. He was a Viking prince, the son of Godric, a vampire sheriff. Plus, he fucking loved her. Those things made him fucking good enough!

And if Sookie couldn't see that Eric was the better man for her—better than Bill—then fuck Sookie.

Eric joined Bill on the floor to scrub the carpet.

Yes—he'd come to like Bill, at least _almost_. He couldn't blame him for wanting Sookie. It proved he had _good taste_. Eric almost laughed at his own pun, but when he discovered that he had some Nan hair in his own hair, he scowled and plucked it out. He needed a fucking shower—posthaste!

Instead, he kept scrubbing. Sookie Stackhouse was a fucking coward. What they had shared—the _profound_ love—was there for the taking, but she had walked away from it. He closed his eyes as he leaned his weight into eradicating the human remains from the carpet.

He had wanted to give Sookie the world—to give her _his_ world—but she'd rejected him. And, through his pain, he had to feel _her_ pain. He had to remember her stricken face as she'd left him.

None of that was Bill's fault. Bill was _never_ competition for him, and if he was—well—then Sookie wasn't making the right choice for _herself_.

Bill was king—sure. Well―at least until this night. And he was nice enough. But Eric knew he wasn't the best choice of mate for Sookie, and he even liked the guy—_almost_.

Yes—Bill had _seemingly_ held onto more of his humanity than Eric had, which might have attracted Sookie more at first. But with that humanity, Bill had held onto his propensity to lie in order to "protect" Sookie in some kind of misguided fashion. And that was _not_ what Sookie would ever want.

Sure, he had lied to her and manipulated Sookie—but he'd owned up to it—and he'd _never_ fucking patronized her. And Bill had. And he would again. Bill _wasn't_ the man for Sookie; Eric knew that just as he knew that a mixture of vinegar and ammonia was the best way to get blood out of carpet without leaving the scent behind.

Eric _knew_ who was the right man for Sookie—the right partner. And that fact continued to piss him off.

"Fuck Sookie," he thought again. "Fuck her for making me love her."

He shook his head and went for some more cleaning towels. Did she even deserve him—especially given her wishy-washy ways?

Eric sighed. He knew that question didn't fucking matter. Deserve him or not―love him or not—she _had_ him.

He just didn't have her.

"Fuck Sookie Stackhouse," he thought.

However, he knew in his gut that she _did_ deserve him, just had he sure as fuck deserved her! She was fire itself. She was heat. She was the fucking sun. She'd saved his life—more than once. She'd stood up to him—more than once. She'd been there during the darkest hour of his life—when Godric had chosen to end himself—and she'd not even flinched.

She'd also been there when he was at his most vulnerable—when he didn't even know himself. _Again_, she'd not flinched. She'd just loved him.

And he'd fucking loved her. He still loved her.

He sprayed and scrubbed at vampire speed, even as he continued to think at the same fast rate.

She _had_ _chosen_ him in the cubby when they'd exchanged blood—or at least chosen the version of him with amnesia. But when he'd gotten his memories back, she'd turned from him. He _knew_ that she'd had more of Bill's blood since then, however, and _that_ was enough to be confusing to her—for a while, at least.

And she had to be frightened of the power of what was between them. He sure as fuck was, and he was a thousand years old!

Maybe if he bided his time, she would return to him. After all, what they had—the bond that they had begun—was strong. It was overwhelmingly strong, and it took all his effort not to let it dictate everything he did.

But he wasn't about to use it to _make_ her choose him—not that he even could. Her fairy blood seemed to counter all the things that vampires could do. They couldn't glamour her. They couldn't really influence her with their blood either—except for a spattering of dreams, which they weren't really even in control of.

And Eric wouldn't try to control her anyway. It was tempting, but he wouldn't. He wanted her to come to him. He fucking loved her.

"Fuck Sookie," he thought again.

He closed his eyes. Yes—that was _exactly_ what he wanted to be doing: fucking Sookie. She had felt like Valhalla to him. She'd been warm around him, almost uncomfortably so. But it was such sweet discomfort. Their first time in the woods had been a wonderful exploration, and he'd been unable to take his hands or eyes off of her, even as he'd buried himself into her again and again and again.

That night in her—no _his_—home, they'd continued fucking. Actually, that wasn't true. He'd _never_ really fucked her―not really—at least not like he was used to thinking about fucking. He didn't like the pedestrian phrase, "making love," but he knew that that was what they'd been doing.

Yes—they had _made_ something that night. Maybe it was a foundation. Maybe it was a time of transcendence. But it had _definitely_ been love.

And then after they'd formed the first leg of a bond—a bond that could become permanent with two more exchanges—they'd been truly transported.

Sex with Sookie was—simply put—the best sex he'd ever had, and he'd had a lot of sex. He also knew _why_ it had been the best. He'd not held back any essential part of himself from her. Even with his memories gone, he had given her everything. And she'd returned herself.

But then she'd panicked and left him.

"Fuck Sookie," he thought.

He _felt_ her clearly, even in that moment. She was driving home from the cemetery. That thought comforted him a little. It wouldn't do at all for her car to be so near to Bill's home when the Authority came. It had been bad enough that she was still close by when Nan was there.

It had only been thirty-four minutes since they'd killed Nan, but a much larger force from the Authority would come by the next night, and he and Bill needed to get the fuck out of Dodge.

Since the potential problem of Nan's spilling Sookie's secrets was now in a tied-up trash bag, Sookie would be safe enough as long as she stayed away, which he knew that she would now. He supposed that was the one good thing about her rejecting both Bill and him.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt her arrive home—arrived at what he'd been thinking of as _their_ home.

"Fuck Sookie," he thought as he pushed aside the ache she'd made inside of him.

He looked down and saw that he'd been scrubbing the same spot until the carpet was almost threadbare.

He shook himself out of his thoughts. He needed to stop thinking about Sookie. She'd made her position clear. She didn't want him. And she obviously didn't want the potential of what they could be together, so fuck her!

Suddenly, he felt a spike in her fear, and Bill looked toward the front door, where he was looking too.

"Sookie," Bill said aloud.

"Fuck Sookie!" Eric said for the hundredth time that night, but this time, he said it out loud.


	2. Chapter 2: Silver

**Chapter 2: Silver**

"_Sookie," Bill said aloud. _

"_Fuck Sookie!" Eric said for the hundredth time that night, but this time, he said it out loud. _

Bill looked at him like he was crazy for a moment.

Eric almost rolled his eyes as his supple mind clicked into high gear again. Where was fucking male solidarity when you needed it? He was having a hard enough time not rushing to Sookie. If Bill went, then he knew he'd be unable to hold on to his resolve and resist the urge to follow.

Sure—Sookie was scared and likely in a perilous situation, but that happened almost every fucking night! Or at least every one since she'd had his blood. If it wasn't a Maenad, it was a serial killer. If it wasn't a V-crazed Were, it was a 3,000-year-old vampire. If it wasn't a necromancer, it was a fairy. Eric knew that he'd played a part in Sookie's involvement with the witch and Russell, but he also knew that she would have found her way into trouble without his help.

She always did.

Hell! She'd been the one to walk into a vampire bar in a dress that screamed out, "I'm dinner!"

And it hadn't been Bill Compton that had kept the other vampires from trying to glamour and claim Sookie that night. Hell—there had been four vampires older than Bill in the bar that night—excluding himself—and all of them had been sniffing at the little ray of sunshine which had invaded the dark. No—it was been his own interest in her and a well-timed growl or two that had kept the hordes away from the sweet-smelling Southern Belle. Yes—if that night wasn't an illustration of how Sookie Stackhouse unknowingly courted danger, he didn't know what was.

Yes—he _had to_ get used to Sookie finding danger. Fuck! A hangnail on her would likely be the catalyst to a supernatural situation.

Of course, that didn't alleviate his apprehension at Sookie's fear, which he could still feel as clear as a fucking bell—and a loud one at that! In fact, the thought of Sookie being in danger made his blood boil and his heart ache, but he couldn't run to her every time she was in peril.

If he did, he'd _have to_ stay by her side _always_ because she was _always_ in some kind of trouble or another. And though her side was _exactly_ where he wanted to be, she'd made her position on the matter painfully clear. Plus, when it all came down to it, he trusted Sookie—not with his heart, but with everything else.

Mostly, however, he trusted her self-preservation skills. She'd managed to survive every peril she'd faced—and most of them without his help. The two Sookie Stackhouses—the clever human and the fiery fairy—had always made a formidable team and had defeated _everything_ that had come at them.

The serial killer? Sookie had killed him in self-defense. Bill had rushed into the sun to "rescue" her—causing more problems than helping—in Eric's opinion. Eric almost scoffed out loud as he tried to imagine what Bill had been thinking. Crispy vampire did not a savior make. Eric would have been practical and made some calls on his fucking cell phone in order to get Sookie some help that really _could_ help. But—oh well—Bill was still young and impulsive where Sookie was concerned. Eric was also somewhat impulsive about her, but he was also smart enough never to run into the fucking sun in some misguided heroic attempt. Perhaps Bill was trying to become a martyr that day; whatever the case, it was idiocy. More to the point, Bill should have trusted that Sookie would scrap her way out of the situation. Sure—she'd gotten banged up and needed the shifter's help, but it had been his fiery fairy-human who had done the deed—well not _his_.

The Fellowship? Well—it wasn't Sookie who had gotten herself strapped down on an altar about to be sacrificed to the fucking sun. Nope—that would be him, and she was the one that had pulled the chains off of him. That night showed him both her vulnerability and her strength. She was almost raped and would have been if Godric hadn't stopped it. But she didn't fall apart. She kept right on fighting and defying him—not even letting him kill a couple of redneck dumbasses with stakes. She'd been fucking magnificent.

The bombing? Sure—he'd had to save her life by putting himself in front of her. She was too close to the bomb to survive its impact, after all. But, on the other hand, she'd bounced right back and had been willing to save his life in the next minute.

The Maenad? Well—because Bill had again acted without thought and fed her his blood after she'd been scratched, Sookie had needed supernatural healing, and Eric had arranged for Ludwig to come. But later, Sookie had been partially responsible for the Maenad's demise. Bill and Sam had played their parts too, but Sookie was no shrinking violet in the situation.

Russell? Well—Sookie managed herself beautifully in that situation too. She'd saved his life—_twice_—within the space of a couple of minutes: first by dragging his ass inside so that he wouldn't keep burning and second by giving him her blood.

The fairies? Sure—she'd gone with them when she should have thought better of it, but she'd also found her way back, and she refused Claudine's manipulative "invitation" to return to the fairy realm. During the day that she'd stayed with him in the cubby―as he'd been chained in silver—she'd told him a great many things to keep his mind off of his pain. One of those things had been about her experiences in the fairy world. She'd told him about sending their queen, Mab, flying onto her ass. And Eric was pretty fucking proud of that. It seemed to him from the way Sookie described things that this Mab was probably a powerful fairy, but Sookie had still managed to escape from her clutches. She'd lost her grandfather that day too, but by that night, she had stood her ground with him—as she always did. She was strong.

The witch? Well—Sookie had managed to get herself out of that situation too. It certainly hadn't been he who had saved her. He was stuck outside of the fucking store! In fact, the very next night, it had been Sookie who had saved his ass from the necromancer. Burning at the stake―instead of getting staked—would have been an ironic death. Even he could appreciate the pun that his demise would have generated. But it hadn't been shaping up to be a pleasant death. And Sookie had kicked some necromancer ass that night. Gods—he loved watching her work. Again—magnificent. And frustrating. And fucking confounding.

He hated and loved her, even as he continued to feel her fear and apprehension. He wanted to run to her—to return the favor by saving her life this time. But he kept still; he _had_ _to_ trust her, or he would never be able to disentangle himself from her. And she didn't want him.

Especially with "fairy Sookie" coming more and more into prominence lately—ever since they'd bonded, in fact—Eric needed to trust that she could find her way out of the trouble that would always find her. He would help as he could—by trying to keep her existence a secret. That's why he was cleaning up Nan chunks right then, after all.

But if he were not glued to her side—which was _not_ something she wanted—then he needed to keep his knees on the floor and keep scrubbing. So that is exactly what he did.

In the moments that Eric was processing all this information in his thousand-year-old vampire mind, Bill was giving him a look that indicated that he was not going to be staying put, but Eric _needed_ Bill to stay the fuck put!

"She rejected both of us," Eric reminded. He was pissed off that he had to remind Bill of this fact and even more pissed off that he also still wanted to go to Sookie.

He also reminded Bill—and himself—that they needed to keep busy. After all, it was the Authority that they were up against now. And Eric didn't know of any vampire who had ever survived a face-off with them. But he fucking intended to be the first. And Bill really ought to tag along.

For a moment, it looked like his monarch was listening to him, but then, they both felt another spike in Sookie's emotions; this time it was intense sorrow.

Bill was out of the door like a jet, but Eric paused, immobilized by the pain of Sookie's emotions for a moment. He'd never had a bond with a human before—not in a thousand years—and now he knew why. _It fucking hurt!_

To make things even "better," he heard the tell-tale thump of a silver net being shot and the sizzle of flesh he could only assume was Bill's.

"They're already here," he said, knowing that the Authority's goons had already amassed outside.

Eric thought for a moment.

A silver net was actually pretty good fucking news and gave Eric a couple of options, which he analyzed in the blink of an eye.

_One:_ He could try to escape. But his nose picked up vampires and humans closing in on all sides of the house now. And where would he go if he did make it out of there? Not Fangtasia. Pam had pissed him off, but he wouldn't endanger her by leading them there. To his home? No. The location of that was too publically known. Sookie's? Hell no! That was _not_ happening.

The bond had moved from fear to cold resolve to grief, but he knew she was at least physically safe—at least for the moment. That would all change if he got to her; he'd lead the Authority to her door. And he _wouldn't_ do that.

_Two:_ He could fight. And he was itching for one. The Marnie/Antonia situation had already made him want to take out some aggression. And Sookie's rejection had made him want to kill anything in sight, and the gay storm troopers had not sated his desire for blood.

However, as he inhaled, he made out at least twenty humans—more storm troopers, obviously―and they would all be carrying guns with wooden bullets. Outrunning twenty firing guns would be damned near impossible, even for him. And then there were the Authority's vampires to worry about. He _wouldn't_ be able to win this fight. He knew it.

_Three:_ He could run out of the door like a fucking idiot and get himself captured—just as Bill had. That would get him a silver net, but at least he knew _that_ was what they were firing first.

If he fought, he'd die. If he was captured, he'd be taken to the Authority, where he'd likely be tortured and then die. But he would have more time to think of a plan along the way.

At least with that option, he'd live to fight another night, and he'd draw his enemies away from Bon Temps, which also meant away from the woman whom his heart was telling him to go to so that he could alleviate her grief. Gods—he wanted to hold her, to comfort her. His body was screaming to be with her, even as his mind was telling him that he had to get away and stay away from her.

No—he couldn't go to Sookie. She'd told him that she didn't want him. And—most importantly—he wouldn't risk her being found by the Authority. Some of its members had never moved beyond the feudal idea that humans were mere cattle. And most of them would see Sookie as simply a tool for blood, sex, and telepathy. Eric could honestly admit that he too loved all of those aspects about Sookie—_wanted_ those aspects.

But the Authority would simply take them. And they would pass her around. They would not concern themselves with how she was left after they had tired of her, and Eric had no illusions. They would leave Sookie broken—if not dead—and they _would_ snuff out the light in her that he loved so fucking much.

So—in the end—there was really no choice. He could fight and almost certainly die. If he did get away, the Authority would go after everyone and everything he had, including Pam and Sookie. Or he could let himself be captured and hope that the Authority only shot a silver net at him, rather than wooden bullets.

His decision clear, Eric got to his feet, shed his blue gloves (he had some dignity, after all), and ran out of the door like an idiot. Hopefully, he would make a good show of this; after all, what kind of dumbass would immediately follow when he'd just heard his king be entrapped by a silver net?

Thwap!

Yep. That silver net hurt like a son of a bitch—just as he knew it would.

And then—_just lovely_—he was thrown into a trunk with Bill. Well, at least they had been placed so that he was the "spooner" rather than the "spoon-ee" in the situation. That was something.

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[_**A/N:**_ Up next, the trunk scene. But first, I have to edit a chapter of _Come Back to Me_ for tomorrow and do some of my "real work." Thanks so much for the lovely reaction to this story already! I hope you enjoyed this chapter too.

Again, sorry for any editing errors.]


	3. Chapter 3: The Trunk

**[A/N: Here's the next chapter. It includes a "deleted scene," which I will add from time to time; however, I won't stray far from the "rules" I have made for myself for this piece. Here are those rules, if you are interested.**

_**Rule 1:**_** I cannot "change" a plot point handed to me by A.B. and his flunkies—like make Tara stay dead/not undead (darn) or make Eric not have sex with Nora. **

_**Rule 2:**_** I have to somehow make use of what I am given to lead toward and E/S endgame…no matter how separated from that idea A.B. and his flunkies go. That means, I can "twist" things and "interpret" them as I wish, but I still cannot "change" them.**

_**Rule 3:**_** I can add "deleted scenes" at will—as long as they don't interfere with the overall plot of the show. In other words, if it doesn't logically fit, I can't just randomly throw in an Eric/Sookie reconnection or—um—sex scene. **

_**Rule 4:**_** (New Rule) I **_**can**_** do whatever the heck I want with this story **_**AFTER**_** the season finale, but I cannot have the characters build a time machine to erase what happens—or wake up after having "dreamed" the whole season. Nuts.**

**Final note: I giggled when I wrote the following—a lot.]**

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**Chapter 3: The Trunk**

Right as the trunk closed, Eric thought he saw a head—more accurately, the _back_ of a head—that he recognized.

Nora.

Eric thought for a moment. Could that really have been her, or was it just wishful thinking on his part? It was _possible_ given her position in the Authority, but he'd thought that she was in England.

In fact, the last time they'd spoken had been via phone—the day after Godric had died. And he hadn't seen her for almost seventy years. Her position as Councilor of the Authority demanded both her time and her severing of all ties to others.

Still—that _glimpse_ seemed to move like her. Eric tried to inhale deeply to see if he was right, but all he caught was the putrid smell of burned Bill. So he stopped his sniffer immediately.

Thank the gods he didn't have to breathe, Eric thought.

He listened as two doors slammed, and then the car took off. That was a good thing actually. It meant that there were only two beings in the car with them. Of course, the silver netting had been left around them, though it had been mighty considerate of Authority flunky #1 not to lay it against their skin directly. There was more silver netting on the floor of the trunk, so that would thwart their leaving the car by breaking through their small—_very_ fucking small—temporary "holding cell"; however, the odds were definitely in their favor now, and Eric was nothing if not opportunistic.

The car turned onto the main highway sharply, causing Bill to roll into the silver a little. Eric could hear him sizzling, and Bill drew back from the silver quickly. He ended up pressed tightly against Eric's body.

"Uh―Bill," Eric started.

"Yeah?" Bill answered, still obviously in pain from the silver.

"You need a hug?" Eric smirked.

"What? No," Bill said.

"A fuck then?" Eric's tone was dripping with sarcasm.

"What?" Bill asked again—this time with shock in his voice. "No!"

"Excellent," Eric intoned. "Then don't cozy up to 'little Eric.' He tends to make himself _known_ when an ass is shoved up next to him—even if it's an ass I'm not particularly attracted to." Eric chuckled. "No offense."

Bill quickly shot away from Eric's not so little "companion" as much as he could without touching the silver. "None taken."

Eric decided to have a moment of fun at Compton's expense. After all, there wasn't much else to be done in the trunk of a car as one was speeding toward certain torture and likely death.

Eric brought his hand up to Bill's shoulder and spoke in his most seductive tone. "Unless you _meant_ to tease me, your majesty. Could it be that _I _am your last request before you meet the true death?"

"I hardly think, Eric . . . ," Bill began in a stammer.

Eric blew into Bill's ear. "Don't think, Bill," he purred. "Why not just feel? We may never have another chance like this."

"Eric!" Bill yelled as he pushed his own body into the silver to get further away from the seemingly amorous Viking. "Your attentions are quite—uh—undesired!"

Eric couldn't hold in his laughter anymore. And he backed off from Bill so that the Civil War veteran could move away from the silver again.

Bill looked over his shoulder to see the amused look on the Viking's face. "You were just . . . ," he stammered.

"Fucking with you?" Eric finished Bill's sentence. He chuckled. "Yes—but _not_ _literally_." Eric quirked a brow. "Again, no offense. You're just not my type."

"Good," Bill said as he continued to try to compose himself.

Eric seemed to be pondering something. "Although after you brought down a matching robe for me to wear earlier, I _have_ to wonder if you don't harbor some kind of," Eric paused, "_desire_ for me." He barely held in his laughter this time.

The erstwhile king stammered again. "I just happen to have several of that same robe!" he insisted in his own defense. "Feedings can get a bit messy, and the laundry service . . . ," his voice trailed off as Eric laughed behind him.

"You fucking ass hole!" Bill intoned agitatedly.

"No thanks," Eric deadpanned. "Again, you're just not my type, Bill."

Bill sighed dramatically. "You are what? Twelve years old?"

"Give or take a thousand," Eric chuckled. "_Still_, I was initially quite—um—_disturbed_ by those matching robes. Thankfully the one I was wearing wasn't quite my size so I knew you weren't harboring some kind of fetish—not that a fetish or two is a bad thing."

"No," Bill said, chuckling a bit himself now. "I have no desire to court you with loungewear, Eric."

The Viking laughed. "That _is_ a comfort."

They were quiet for a few minutes.

Finally Bill broke the silence. He spoke in a quiet voice, barely a whisper, "Do you still feel her? She is becoming faint to me."

"Yes," Eric sighed, also speaking quietly. "She's still there. She is sad, but she is also resolved. Pam is there now too, so no harm will be coming to her tonight."

"But Pam is the one that fired a rocket at her," Bill observed skeptically.

"True," Eric relented. "But if I know my progeny, she will be trying to make up for that fact."

"So she's alright then?" Bill probed.

"Yes—there is no more fear," Eric confirmed quietly.

"You made a bond with her?" Bill asked, his voice now even lower in volume.

"Yes," Eric verified. "The beginning of one, but she obviously no longer wants it."

"I'm sorry," Bill said.

"What for?" Eric asked, legitimately mystified by what Bill could have to be sorry about. After all, Eric couldn't blame him for loving Sookie.

"Giving her my blood again. She was _yours_―I could sense that—but she was also dying of a gunshot wound, and it was _my_ fault," Bill said in a tortured voice.

"How's that?" Eric tried to hold in his snarl.

Bill sighed. "One of my guards became confused during the fight and thought Sookie was one of the witches after she used her light power," he said contritely.

Eric was silent for a few moments. He couldn't really blame Bill for that error. Such mistakes happened in the midst of battles. He recalled a time in his human days when he was fighting at night, swung his axe, and accidentally brained one of his own men—a friend of his. It was war, but he had still felt guilt for it. He could sense that same feeling from Bill now.

"If it makes you feel any better," Bill reported, "she did _not_ want to take my blood at first. She was unconscious, but she still rejected it. I had to try _several_ times before she took it."

Eric contemplated the information. It did make him feel better, but that's not what he said.

"It does not matter now," he said through pursed lips. "The infusion of your blood may have confused her, but let's face it, she was _never_ one to be ruled by our influence. Her choice was her own."

"Still," Bill said in a tone that was actually sorry without being pitying, "it must be even more difficult for you since you bonded with her."

"Yes," Eric answered simply.

There were a few minutes of silence as the car continued to roll them to their fate.

"I _still_ want her, you know," Bill said.

"So do I," Eric barely sounded, though Bill could hear him. "But she wants _neither_ of us, and now it is a moot point. You and I will soon be dead or gone from her forever."

"True," Bill agreed.

"But if I die, I will admit that hers will be the face that I will cling to as I go to my final death," Eric acknowledged, quietly.

"Agreed," Bill said. He sighed and then lightened his tone. "It is too bad that neither one of us is capable of sharing."

Eric chuckled. "Nor is she."

Bill nodded. "What do you think will happen?"

Eric shrugged. "Who knows? I still have a few friends in high places."

* * *

Eric _did_ have friends in high places, and seeing the back of that brunette head reminded him of one of the most important: Nora. She was his vampire sister, though no one in the Authority knew that. They all coveted the identities of their makers and progeny closely so that nothing or no one could be held over them. Plus, part of the ritual of joining the Authority was severing the bonds to one's maker—through magic—so that he or she could no longer command the member to do anything.

Nora was younger than he was by a couple of hundred years. Godric had turned her in England in 1261. Eric hadn't met her until about a century later, however. Godric had released him about a decade before Nora's turning, and he'd been traveling in Asia at the time.

When he had finally met his "sister," they had become close almost immediately. It wasn't just that they'd had sex either. Of course, they _had_. She was beautiful, and he was a vampire, after all, and vampires loved sex.

No—they had behaved mostly like siblings from the word "go"—squabbling to the point that Godric had often ordered them to different countries. They'd _never_ been able to stay around each other for more than a week without a big dust-up, but that week had often been full of some lovely fucking. In addition, they'd had a lot of fun together. And he trusted her with his life, and he could count how many humans and vampires he'd truly trusted over his long lifetime on one hand. And he had his thumb left over.

Strangely enough, the vampire lying next to him in the trunk was likely to be added to that short list soon. Bill had saved his life even though it would have likely benefitted Bill to see him dead. More importantly, he felt that Bill would have his back during a battle. And that kind of thing went a long way toward establishing trust.

Yes—Eric trusted Nora. And he knew that she would help him out of his current clusterfuck if she could, just as he would always help her if she needed it.

Eric closed his eyes and tried to allow a memory of Nora to fill him. He was certain that if it could, he would be halfway to forgetting the heart carnage left in the wake of Hurricane Sookie.

But, unfortunately, his memories of Nora didn't compare to his thoughts of Sookie Stackhouse.

Nora―he loved like a sister. She was what humans might call a friend with benefits. First and foremost, she was his vampire sister. Being her lover had always felt fucking amazing, but those feelings had never evolved into romantic love. In fact, Nora was one of the few individuals that he would actually talk to about his feelings for a certain blond telepathic fairy-human. Gods know, he'd had to listen to her going on and on about paramours she'd had throughout the years.

But in the end, no matter how nice it felt to fuck Nora, he'd never loved her like he did Sookie; he'd never loved anyone like that.

Sookie—he had wanted to spend _at least_ one lifetime with, hopefully more if he could have talked her into being turned. He would have also done whatever she asked to get to that life. He would have remained faithful to her. He would have fed from no others—as long as she was letting him feed from her. He would have given her all that was his. He would have made everyone that owed him fealty bow before her. He would have placed her before all others.

He'd _already_ put her before Pam and before himself even. Outside of the necromancer's store, he _had been_ willing to die so that Sookie might live. Of course that fact pissed him the fuck off, but it was still a fact. And he'd not hesitated to make that deal with Marnie or Antonia or whomever the fuck she'd been at the time.

Yes—when he'd said that he'd given himself to Sookie completely, he had spoken truth.

She'd thawed and then fused together the left-over pieces of his dead heart with the sun of her very being. And then—instead of cherishing what she had created—she'd shattered it into even more pieces than before.

Eric felt heat in his eyes, but he angrily held onto the tear that threatened to fall. He _wasn't_ going to cry for Sookie Stackhouse.

He loved and hated Sookie Stackhouse so fucking much. He closed his eyes tightly and his mind traveled to the woods near her home—to the stream filling his senses with its song as he filled his woman with his cock. She'd felt so right to him in that moment. They had belonged to each other in that moment.

But she'd been right about what she'd said the very next night. _Nothing_ lasts forever.

"Eric?" Bill asked, breaking the silence that had grown between them.

"What?" Eric snapped a little as he was drawn out of his daydream—drawn out of Sookie yet again.

"Um—are _you_ sure you don't have something to tell me?" Bill asked smirking.

Eric assessed himself and sure enough, he had a huge Sookie-induced erection. "Fuck," Eric said in frustration.

"No thanks," Bill quipped.

Eric shoved Bill lightly—just enough so that his skin would barely meet the silver.

"Congratulations," Bill said, a mixture of sarcasm and perhaps envy in his voice.

"What for?" Eric asked.

"You seem to have been blessed in the size department," Bill bantered.

"Oh—you know what they say, Bill?" Eric said, having recovered from his musings about Sookie. He was genuinely thankful to Bill in that moment for taking his mind off of her.

"What's that?" Bill asked.

"It's not the size that matters."

Bill's eyebrow quirked.

"And _that_ is why I have spent a thousand years perfecting how to use this thing," Eric smirked.

"How nice for you," Bill deadpanned.

"Indeed," Eric answered.

"I still don't want to fuck you, Eric," Bill joked.

From the front of the car, they heard the volume being turned up on the radio. Eric's smirk grew. "But they're playing our song."

Bill rolled his eyes and then grew serious. "Do you think they might just be bringing us in for questioning? Wouldn't we be dead already . . . ?"

Eric cut him off, "Have you ever heard of a vampire being hauled in by the Authority and then live to talk about it?"

Bill turned and looked at him. Bill's eyes held the fear only one so young could have about death. But then his eyes moved past Eric to take in something behind the sheriff in the trunk.

Eric followed his gaze. It was an umbrella—a nice sturdy one—and immediately, he knew what Bill was thinking. He began to reach back for the object, inching his way toward it while trying to avoid the silver.

Eric contemplated. The risks were great, but if Bill's plan worked, then they would have to face only two vampires―unless there was a pursuing vehicle. Either way, it would be fewer than they would have to deal with once they reached their destination. That was for goddamned sure.

And they would have the element of surprise too. But most importantly, they were well away from Sookie now and well away from Bon Temps. Their escape was more likely, and they would not draw attention to those they cared about.

He grabbed the umbrella, and he and Bill maneuvered it into position before thrusting it into the gas tank, which—thankfully—was only about a third of the way full at this point.

"Alright, now it just needs a fire," Eric said as he snapped the wooden handle into kindling. The fire would be easy to create.

* * *

The explosion was everything that Eric had hoped for—powerful enough to destroy the car, dislodge the silver, and sling Bill and himself free from the trunk, but not strong enough to incinerate them.

He was thrown against a fence, but he soon got his bearings. Bill was in worse shape. He rushed over to him.

Bill had a piece of metal in his shoulder, but it was easily taken care of.

"We gotta go," Eric said.

"You should run," Bill said in a strained, but commanding voice.

Of course, Bill wasn't technically his king anymore, so Eric didn't feel the need to obey him.

In fact, Eric felt like _he_ was the commander in that moment. It reminded him of his days as a Viking—when he was a leader of men. And he'd _never_ left a comrade behind—just as his men had not left him behind when he was dying his human death. He'd not had many comrades since he'd become a vampire, but he'd never abandoned one of them in times of danger either—until the day Godric had _ordered_ him to leave the basement of the Fellowship church. That thought made Eric angry, and he pulled Bill to his feet.

Eric snarled, "I'm not leaving you here. Let's go!"

As they were rising, a voice came from behind them. "Who wants to die first?" Authority flunky #1 asked.

And then just like that, the flunky was dead, and behind him stood the person that Eric had been thinking about—his sister.

Nora spoke, "_You_―Hayes. You die first."

She dropped his spine unceremoniously onto the ground.

Yep—Eric thought to himself—_that_ was fucking sexy.

Even though he had no idea who the vampiress in front of him was, Bill was thinking the same thing.

They were vampires, after all. Vampires in love with a fairy—_sure_—but still vampires nonetheless.


	4. Chapter 4: Nora

**[**_**A/N:**_** Please indulge me for a moment as I pitch a story by CDB33 called "Undone." She is also picking up on the threads of this season of TB by focusing on Eric's thoughts. In fact, she is the reason I'm writing this piece; it was her challenge, as I said in an earlier author's note. But she is also composing her own version of events. She's being "meaner" to both Bill and Sookie in her portrayal too, and I have to say that **_**I love it**_**. It is like reading a "companion piece" to my own story in a way—a dueling banjo. So if you like "Inner," give "Undone" a try.]**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Nora**

Eric saw his sister, and in an instant, his mind was transported to the last time they'd seen each other.

It had been London, 1945—just before the surrender of Germany.

Vampires hadn't much cared about the Great War that had been waging in Europe, Africa, and Asia; in fact, they had never cared much about the actions of humans.

But Nora did. Most vampires had been using the war as an opportunity to find and kill the injured. The kills had been easy and easily covered up, but Nora had always been of a different ilk.

Eric had once been told by Godric that he'd found Nora dying after she'd been separated from her lover, who was an infamous English outlaw. Eric liked to tease Nora that she was actually Maid Marian of the old folktales of the Isle. Hell—maybe she was. She _did_ always seem driven to protect those that couldn't protect themselves.

So—instead of preying upon the victims of the war, Nora had worked as a nurse. It had been easy for her to glamour the ward doctor to allow her to work only nights. So while both humans and vampires were killing in the thousands, Nora was trying to help. At the very least, she was able to glamour away the pain of those who had been hurt the most. She never, however, gave her own blood to the injured. She'd drawn the line there because of her idiosyncratic ideas about fate and ethics.

Her rules about her blood were simple, and those rules had been ingrained in both of them by their maker. The blood should be held sacred and not given unless it was to make a child or a bond. Godric had taught that a child should only be made when a clear pull was felt; he had taught selectivity. And Godric was adamant that bonds not be entered into without caution and much thought. He'd formed only one during his long life, but he would hardly speak of it. He simply said that it gave him both immense pleasure and intense pain. Eric could fucking empathize.

So Nora had never given her blood to save any of the humans she tried to help; there would have been too many to save anyway. Eric knew that. He'd seen the ravages of the war throughout Europe as he and Godric had made their way to Germany―where they'd traced the tattooed Weres―and it was the worst carnage that he had ever witnessed.

The bond between a maker and a child transferred to "siblings" to a certain extent, so Eric had had no trouble tracking Nora the night he went to her. He'd gone to the hospital where she'd worked and waited outside for her. When he saw her—all dressed in a white nurse's uniform with blood on it—his fangs had clicked down immediately.

She'd answered his obvious excitement with a roll of her eyes.

"Brother," she'd said in her perfect English accent. She'd not been surprised to see him at all.

"Sister," Eric had said simply. "You look well."

"Well," she'd said with snark, "you do _not_."

"I _am_ not," he'd said with regret.

In fact, he'd not been well at all. Godric had—for the first time in his existence—ordered him from his sight. And Eric had felt empty.

Nora had taken his hand and led him through the streets of London toward her resting place.

"I got a letter from Godric yesterday," Nora had said.

"He told you I was coming then?" Eric had asked, though he'd not needed to.

"He told me that you _might_," she confirmed.

"Did he tell you why?" he asked, as they ducked into an alley off of Whitechapel Street. There was still much ruin and rubble left from the Blitz that had occurred in London a few years earlier.

"Yes," she said simply.

Eric was both angry at his maker and also glad that he wouldn't have to rehash the situation to Nora.

Godric had been _extremely_ displeased with him after he'd given the Were—one of what he now knew were _Russell's_ Weres—his blood so that she would talk.

"A vampire is never at the mercy of his emotions," Godric had said to Eric with judgment steeped in his eyes. "He _dominates_ them." Godric had told him that they would find the vampire who had been responsible for the deaths of his parents. He had told Eric to have _patience_.

However, Godric's patience seemed to be keeping them a step away from the vampire responsible. In fact, Godric's heart did not seem to be in the search at all—of that Eric had been certain.

But when Eric had questioned him about this, Godric had chastised him and sent him away. And in his pain and rejection, Eric had gone to his sister.

Nora led them to a small basement apartment in a large building. The inner rooms of that dwelling served as her home. There were no windows, and the space was dark and dank—perfect for a vampire.

"Do you wish to talk about it?" she asked him.

"No," Eric answered. "I do not."

She nodded and busied herself with lighting a few lamps around her home.

"Do you wish to _fuck_ about it?" she asked.

"Please," Eric said.

"Well then," she said prissily, "let me warm you some water for a bath. I do not wish to fuck you when you smell of the toils of travel. Have you eaten?"

He shook his head.

Nora gave him a little smile. "There are many whores around this area. They will be easy prey for you, but do _not_ kill them, Brother."

Eric rolled his eyes. "I have been able to control my feedings much longer than you have, sister."

She smirked. "I suppose you have." She paused. "It is just that I like most of them. They are quite nice, actually."

Eric had scoffed a little as Nora gave him a dirty look. Only Nora would befriend the whores in her hunting ground, Eric had thought.

"There is one named Meg. She is a redhead and always wears an emerald green dress. Her blood is the best—if she is not otherwise occupied."

Eric nodded and turned to go find this Meg.

"There's a bit of money on the bureau. I would not want Meg to starve, Eric."

He turned to face her. "I have some money, Nora. And I would _not_ leave her with nothing." He sighed in frustration and raised his voice a little, "I am not a caveman. I will give her money and a nice memory."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Brother. Let's not fight tonight—_if_ we can help it." Her voice softened. "Go get your dinner, and by the time you are back, I will have a nice bath ready for you."

Eric nodded. "Thank you," he said over his shoulder on his way out.

That night, Nora and he had bathed together and had had some pretty memorable sex. She had not, however, asked him anything about his being temporarily exiled from Godric's sight. She'd comforted him with her body and held him through his death-rest.

He'd left the next night. Nora was—even then—already courting to take a place in the Authority and didn't need entanglements.

A flash of Pam entered Eric's thoughts amidst the flames surrounding him. He realized that his vampire child must now feel very much like he had felt when Godric sent him away—rejected and empty.

He wondered if he'd be able to contact her soon—to try to fix what had been damaged between them.

Eric flashed back to Nora's eyes. She was beautiful, and as always, he saw comfort in her eyes. It was comfort that he craved, comfort that he needed.

That comfort was all he thought about as he crossed over to her in a few long strides.

"Nora," he said, and then he was kissing her. Familiar. Comforting. And—yes—accepting. Accepting most of all. Her hair was silk, just as he remembered. He felt his lips melt into hers, speaking to her in their kiss. He was begging her to save him—not from an Authority flunky, but from himself and the emotions that threatened to overtake him.

That kiss felt like a safe haven—like base in a human child's game of tag.

He was immediately able to relax into her, and he realized then that he'd not relaxed in days—not since he'd been in the arms of Sookie Stackhouse.

He heard Bill's fangs retract. "Friend of yours?" the ex-monarch asked, with a twinge of sarcasm in his voice.

Eric turned to him. "It's my sister—actually." And then he went back in for another kiss, and for a moment, he thought of _nothing_ else—not even Sookie. It was a blissful moment.

But that moment didn't last very long.

"The Guardian wanted Nan followed to make sure she carried out her orders," Nora said. "I saw an opportunity to save Eric, so I took it."

Bill spoke up, "So nobody in the Authority knows of your relationship?"

"And they never will," Nora was saying.

Eric followed the conversation with one ear, but his mind was elsewhere. "Fuck Sookie Stackhouse," he thought to himself.

He was monitoring Sookie's emotions; he couldn't fucking help himself! And that just pissed him off.

He was feeling more resolve from Sookie, but also self-loathing. It was as if she had transferred all of her negative emotions right onto herself, and Eric didn't fucking like that. He felt her lack of self-worth. He felt her insecurity. He felt her guilt.

She'd left Bill's house earlier feeling heart-broken. Although Sookie couldn't have named what was at the undercurrent of that heart-break, Eric knew; it was their bond, pulling at them both. Her blood had been longing for his—just as his still longed for hers.

But now, she felt different. She felt numb—almost—except for the overwhelming negative feelings directed toward herself.

He assessed Pam through his bond with her. She was already resting for some reason, but she felt uncertain and a bit pissed off—which was par for the course for her for the last several days.

Then, Eric assessed his own feelings. He was glad to see Nora—_very_ glad. He was certain that she would save his ass. But he also felt something else, something he didn't fucking like at all—guilt.

Right after he'd kissed Nora, he had started to feel a gnawing. He realized almost immediately that this eating away of his new-found comfort had arisen because he felt like he was being unfaithful to Sookie. He looked down at the pavement and tried to expel that thought. "Fuck Sookie Stackhouse," he thought to himself. She'd rejected him—made fucking clear to him that she didn't want him or the life he would have offered her.

_She_ turned her back on their bond. And she had no fucking right to be making him feel like _he_ was the jackass because of some misguided notions about fidelity. But here she was—in his head, at least—with her hands on her fucking glorious hips giving him _a look_.

"Fuck Sookie," he thought again to himself, realizing those words had become his new mantra and getting a small sense of satisfaction out of that realization.

What was there to be faithful to anyway? An idea? A hope? A bond she'd formed with _her_ Eric? Well, she'd fucking rejected the _real_ Eric fucking Northman, and that included _hers_. So she could go fuck herself.

He was tempted to bend Nora over the nearest crate and fuck her until the sun rose—just to prove the fucking point that he shouldn't feel—_didn't_ feel—guilty.

Of course, he was lying to himself.

In truth, he _did_ feel guilty for following his instincts. He felt guilty for taking a kiss from a woman who had always been a place of comfort and affection for him. He felt guilty for getting aroused by the smell of fire and blood in the air. Her felt guilty for licking a smidgen of Hayes blood from the lips of a beautiful woman.

He fucking hated guilt.

Eric chastised himself. Why the fuck should he feel any guilt whatsoever? Sookie's decision was clear—crystal-fucking-clear! And it wasn't as if he was going to give his fucking heart to Nora. Fuck! He couldn't even _find_ that organ at the moment. He was pretty fucking sure it was under the boot of one Sookie fucking Stackhouse!

The fact that his dick was still in his pants and still able to function was a fucking miracle―especially since his balls seemed to be on hiatus―and he refused to feel fucking guilty because of that. Except that he did.

"Fuck Sookie Stackhouse," he thought again.

He tuned back into the conversation.

"We were only connected through our maker," Nora said. "And Godric is gone."

Eric looked at her when she said that, remembering the call he'd given her after Godric's death. Because of the magic used to sever her from Godric's influence, Nora had not known, so Eric had had to explain to her what had happened to their maker.

There had been guilt on his part that night too—guilt that he couldn't stop Godric. As he'd spoken to Nora, he'd craved comfort―but not from her that night. He'd craved it from a beautiful blond telepath, who had already returned to Bon Temps while he'd been sleeping.

He'd actually told Nora about Sookie that night—though he'd kept his emotional entanglement with her to himself. He'd simply told Nora that the human-telepath who had been helping him find Godric had stayed with their maker to the end.

He'd told her of Godric's shirt which had been delivered to his room a few minutes after sunset. He'd told her of the note that had been with the shirt. It had read simply, "He did not suffer. He said he was full of joy. And he died in a beautiful blue light. There was no pain. None."

The note had been unsigned, but Eric had known who had written it. After carrying the note around with him for almost six months, the penciled words had begun to fade and the paper had begun to wear. So he'd placed both the note and the shirt into a hidden lockbox that housed many of his most precious possessions.

Sookie's report of the "blue light" had comforted both Nora and himself. It had meant that Godric had truly let go—that he'd not activated the magic inside of his own body to save himself. That had confirmed that his death would have been painless.

Bill was speaking again, "As a Chancellor of the Authority—I mean—you're taking a huge risk. Why would you choose to. . . ."

Nora interrupted him, "Because I would do anything for Eric."

Eric looked at her sincerely, feeling all of the emotions of the last weeks bubbling inside of him. "I would do anything for you," he vowed.

She looked at him with a smile in her eyes. Again—there was that comfort he desperately needed.

Never one to become overly sentimental, Nora looked away after giving him a little smile and spoke once more to Bill, "And because you did what you did protecting us from the necromancers." She chuckled ruefully. "That we would reward you for it with the true death speak volumes about how," she paused, "_out of step_ the Authority's current agenda is." She paused again. "I'm not alone in this belief."

Nora continued talking about factions in the Authority that Eric already knew about. She also spoke of a plan she'd had in place before their stunt with blowing up the car, but Eric tuned out for a moment as he checked Sookie. God—he hated himself for doing that, but he also couldn't help himself.

She was fine—or at least as fine as she'd been when he'd last looked in on the bond five fucking minutes ago. Still—he _hated_ her unrest. He kept his feet moving forward with difficulty. The talk of Godric had made him long for Sookie—his bonded one. She was the _only_ one who could take away his pain; of that, he was certain. Nora could offer comfort, but she could not heal him. Eric knew that only one thing would, but he kept walking.

Bill was saying he was sorry for fucking up Nora's extraction plan when Eric tuned back into their conversation.

"Don't be," Nora intoned looking at Bill with her patented half-smile. "It was badass."

Eric smirked a little. First, it _had_ been rather badass. Second, it was clear from Nora's tone that she was flirting with Bill—at least a little. His sister was always one to wrap people around her dainty and deadly fingers. He mused and was amused for a moment: Nora and Bill? Who knows?

The practicality that had reigned inside of Eric for a thousand years reared its head, "So what do we do now?"

Nora's plan was to go to ground and make new arrangements for the next night. "Lillith willing," she said, "we'll be safe."

Bill gestured toward an old box car—now little more than a rusty eyesore within a village of similar eyesores.

Eric shook his head slightly. Humans certainly knew how to pile up waste.

Bill opened the doors of the storage container. It was sound and would do for the day.

Nora agreed, "Wait for me inside—will you? I have to call New Orleans and lie my ass off."

Eric and Bill both moved toward her a little—Eric because he just loved watching Nora do one of the things she was best at—lying—and Bill because—well, probably because Nora just had a way of drawing people in.

"I strongly recommend holding still," she chastised in that tone that Eric knew would begin to grate on him sooner rather than later. But for now, it was charming; it always was at first.

Gods—he appreciated his sister. She was _exactly_ the kind of distraction he needed to get his mind off of Sookie fucking Stackhouse, whose fucking sorrow had now returned with a fucking vengeance. Eric pulled himself from the bond, promising himself that he would _not_ check it again until right before he fell into his day-rest.

While Nora was showing off her magnificent skills, lying about their escape and Hayes's unfortunate demise, all of which she called a "hiccup," Bill turned to Eric. "I knew you had friends in high places, but a Chancellor of the Authority? Who else knows about this?"

"No one," Eric said quickly. "Not even Pam."

Bill gave him a surprised look.

Eric had thought about telling his progeny about Nora, but Nora's position demanded outright secrecy. Hell, the severing spell done by the Authority to remove the maker's ability to command was designed—_also_—to convince that maker that his child had met the true death. And if the vampire joining the Authority had progeny, similar spells were conducted.

Nora had broken protocol when she'd told Godric and him about her acceptance into the Authority.

So _officially_, Nora was dead. And Eric had never had a reason to tell Pam, who had never met Nora, about any of it.

Pam would have been too trigger happy about using that information to get them out of one of the piles of shit they'd found themselves in over the years. Hell—Eric hadn't even tried to use his connection with Nora when Russell was loose or in the aftermath of the Magister's death.

Eric watched as Nora finished her call. He walked toward her, feeling himself drawn by the familiarity of her—the surety. She was a great liar. Hell, he knew for certain that she'd lied to, glamoured, and fed from a pope once—just because they'd made a bet about it—but she'd never lied to him. And he'd never lied to her.

And she was _not_ one to lie to herself either. Nora had always been a compelling mix of ambition, compassion, and ruthlessness; she was unapologetic about that mix too. When someone did something she thought was wrong, she killed him or her, or she made him or her suffer dearly. When she saw a true victim, she did the opposite.

And _always_, she'd had a grand vision for herself. The day that Godric told her about the existence of the Authority was the day that she decided to be a part of the governing body behind the scenes of all vampire politics. Eric knew his sister well—knew that her desire to be in that body was born from both her personal ambition to be powerful—to _never_ again be the victim herself—and her aspiration to make the world a better place as she saw fit.

Eric had always teased her for being a bit hokey. But, truth be told, he could use a little hokey right now. And he could certainly use a little Nora. She would not—had _never_—turned her back from him.

She would not tell him that she loved him in one breath and then leave him in the next. She could be trusted to offer him comfort _without_ complication, and after Hurricane Sookie, a little simple comfort would be nice.

Eric looked at Nora and tried to erase the self-judgment seeping around the edges of his conscious mind. That nagging voice was still telling him that he was being unfaithful to Sookie even by thinking of taking pleasure and comfort in Nora. Eric was pissed off by the voice. He swept away that feeling—or at least he tried to. "Fucking blood bond," he thought to himself. He told himself that the bond didn't matter to him now anyway. He was, of course, lying to himself again, but at least he could recognize it.

Nora chose that exact moment to give him a little smirk and say, "Even the best of liars can be ended."

Knowing that Nora wasn't actually referring to his inner monologue, Eric focused on his sister. He understood the risk she was taking for him and for Bill. She was imperiling her position and her life. Yes—Nora was _exactly_ what Eric needed: the surety of someone who would take a risk for him.

Nora looked over at Bill, "I hope you both understand that tomorrow night you'll be saying goodbye to the lives you've known forever. If you come back—if you ever return—it will be the true death of me."

Nora was looking back at him now, her eyes shimmering with sincerity and maybe even a little fear.

Eric knew the gravity of the moment. He felt that gravity pulling at every cell of his body even then—trying to pull his blood to the blood of a fairy-human half the state away. He'd known that he would not be able to return to Sookie Stackhouse before Nora had spoken, but hearing the words out loud felt like a silver dagger probing at those tiny shards of his heart that Sookie had left behind.

"I understand," he heard himself saying, but it was another lie. He didn't, in truth, understand very much at all in that moment. He didn't understand when exactly he'd lost control over his emotions. He didn't understand why he couldn't just hate Sookie Stackhouse and go back to the emotionally distant vampire he'd been. He didn't understand how he was going to survive the fortnight if he didn't do just that. He didn't understand why his feelings for Sookie only seemed to be growing, despite the fact that she had rejected him. And he _especially_ didn't understand the fucked up choice she'd made that had hurt _three_ individuals, instead of just one. He didn't fucking understand Sookie's math at all!

But he _did_ understand that he'd likely never see her again, and looking at Bill's face, Eric knew that his ex-monarch also understood that fact.

"As do I," Bill said.

"Fuck Sookie Stackhouse," Eric thought to himself. Both he and Bill sounded like they were being led to a fucking firing squad, not being given another chance at life.

"Good," Nora said, "let's get some rest."

Eric followed her into the box car and helped Bill secure the door. He double-checked to make sure the space was light-tight, his eyes taking in the structure of the container quickly. It was sound. He thought briefly about going over to where Nora was settling down in the corner, but he didn't.

He sat down near the door and stretched out his long legs. It was only about five minutes until dawn, but he was more than ready for it to come so that he could escape into sweet oblivion for a little while.

It had been a long night—a _very_ long night. Almost being burned at the stake, being burned figuratively by the taste of Sookie's blood as she'd healed him, being rejected by the only woman he'd ever truly loved, killing Nan, being captured by the Authority, blowing up in a car, and meeting Nora again. Yes—it had been a long fucking night.

And Eric felt tired. He laid his long body down on the rusty floor of the box car. The cold metal felt good to him—it felt _appropriate_ somehow.

With his last act of the long night, Eric allowed himself to peer again into the bond he'd begun with Sookie. It was just as strong to him here as it had been in Bon Temps, a fact that he both loved and hated. She was immersed in sorrow. He wondered briefly what had happened to overwhelm her. He wondered if part of her sorrow could be about him.

He also wondered when the fuck he would find his balls. Eric shook himself a little. Tomorrow night, he was resolved to put Sookie out of his mind. What good would it do to keep checking the bond? What good would it do Sookie or him at this point?

No—tomorrow he would forget Sookie Stackhouse, but in the last moments of the night, he simply _felt_ her through their bond. And he fell into death, knowing his own sorrow was twin to hers.


	5. Chapter 5: The Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 5: The Best Laid Plans**

Eric woke up from his day-rest, obviously having forgotten his resolution to locate and reattach his balls. He was the oldest vampire in their group, so he knew it would be a few minutes before Nora rose.

As if by instinct, he used those minutes to find and assess Sookie through their bond. She was apprehensive. She was anxious. And she was hopeful.

But underneath those emotions, she was continuing to pummel herself with loathing. And underneath that, he felt her longing. He knew what she longed for, but he refused to let that matter to him, and he refused to acknowledge that he longed for the same thing—connection. _Connection to_ _her_.

He shook his head, _not_ having forgotten his mantra. "Fuck Sookie," he said out loud into the dark storage container. After all, she knew the fucking number of his secure phone and could have called him if she'd changed her mind about severing that connection.

With that thought, he quickly checked his phone. Nothing. He angrily shoved it back into his pocket and stood up, opening the doors the moment that the sun buried itself into the horizon.

He was looking at the gray of the early night when two cool hands snaked around his stomach from behind.

"Would you like to tell me what's wrong brother?" Nora asked.

Eric leaned into her and saw that Bill was still asleep. He'd probably stay that way for another ten minutes or so. Most vampires under 200 years old slept until the night was _truly_ dark. Eric enjoyed the dusk; in his opinion, disappearing light was better than none at all.

"No," Eric said simply. He didn't feel like talking, actually. He didn't want to rake the scabs from his wounds. He wanted to be numb.

"You are going to keep up your wallowing—then?" Nora asked. "You know—you were _never_ pleasant when you were moody."

"I'm not moody," Eric grumbled.

"Of course not," Nora said sarcastically, breaking her physical contact with him and stepping around so that she could face him. "Well—would you like to tell me what you are _not_ wallowing and _not_ moody about?"

Eric gave her a half-smile. "I _never_ liked how well you could read me, Sister."

"Nor did your pocketbook when we played at cards," she smiled back.

She glanced out into the gray twilight. "Are you saddened by the life you leave behind, Brother? I know that you have businesses and a child. I'm sure that after a time, you can arrange for Pamela to know where you are, and surely, Mr. Packrat, you still have some of that money you always hoarded about the world."

"Yes," Eric said simply. "I have plenty of money. And I will call Pam to me soon enough—once I am certain she will not be followed."

"Then what is it?" Nora asked.

"A woman," Eric admitted.

"The same one Mr. Compton is mooning over as well?" she asked perceptively.

"Yes," Eric relented. "She is _quite_ a woman."

"The one you told me about? The telepath who stayed with Godric?" she asked.

Damn! She was always _too_ perceptive. "Yes," Eric said simply.

"You love her?" Nora asked.

"Yes." It was another simple answer, but the feelings behind it were anything but. Eric craved a little simplicity.

"I did not think I would live to see the day when you loved like this, Brother, and I _always_ intended to live a _very_ long time," Nora half-quipped.

"She is _quite_ a woman," Eric answered in a low voice.

"Yes—you said that already," Nora said, her voice devoid of anything other than care.

"I bonded with her," Eric said almost contritely, though he felt no real regret. Even if he'd had all his memories in the cubby, he would have wanted the same thing.

"You what?" Nora asked, clearly agitated. "But how can you be sure? You likely just exchanged, Eric. Godric always told us how difficult it is to form a bond."

Nora seemed almost to be looking for a way out for Eric. Eric took her in with a wry smile; it was sweet of her to be so concerned―really.

"Surely, you did not _actually_ bond," she insisted.

"Yes—a _first_ bond," Eric said.

"Perhaps it did _not_ take," Nora reasoned. "They don't always take—you know."

"It took," Eric said with certainty.

Nora looked at him with wide eyes. "You felt it? The euphoria?"

Eric nodded.

"What was it like?" she asked with a little awe in her voice.

"Euphoric," Eric deadpanned.

Nora rolled her eyes and then scrutinized him for a moment. "Then she should be here with you. I will arrange for her to have papers too. One phone call, Eric, and it . . . ."

He cut her off gruffly. "That will _not_ be necessary."

She narrowed her eyes. "But to be without her now will cause _you_ pain. It is probably _already_ doing so if she is still all the way in Bon Temps."

"We have made only one exchange," Eric said evenly, neither confirming nor denying the huge and very painful ache in his gut. "And the bond _will_ fade in time as long as there is no other exchange made."

"Eric, her place is with _you_," Nora insisted. "If you chose her like that, _it is with you_!" She paused. "If you trust no one else, I will go get her myself after you and Bill are gone, and I promise that I will return her to you safely."

Eric scoffed. "You cannot return to me something which is _not_ mine, Nora."

"But the bond makes her yours, Eric," Nora pointed out.

"Sookie Stackhouse does _not_ wish to belong to me," he said through clenched teeth.

"Does she belong to Mr. Compton—then?" Nora asked, looked over at the still-sleeping vampire.

Eric shook his head. "Sookie has chosen to belong to _no one_." His fingers were biting into his palms because of the pressure of the fists he was making to keep himself under control.

"But you want her to belong to you," Nora aptly observed.

Eric looked into the darkening sky. He answered Nora's question with an almost imperceptible nod.

They were silent for a few moments.

"Do you want to talk about it anymore?" Nora asked compassionately.

"Talk about what?" Bill queried as he rose and stretched his limbs.

"No," Eric said ignoring Bill and boring a look into Nora. "I want to fuck about it."

She gave him a little smile. "Mr. Compton, would you mind giving my brother and me a few moments alone?"

Bill looked at Eric with a bit of surprise, but he nodded and quickly left the box car.

* * *

Eric buried himself into Nora. Her cool flesh welcomed him in, and he sighed. Fuck—she felt good.

But he had to _actively_ prevent himself from thinking about why she didn't feel '_best_.' There was only one who could do that. And for the moment, he needed to forget that '_one_'; he needed for the world to feel simple again—manageable.

He pounded into Nora, taking her from behind as they stood. Her hands were braced into the side of the storage container. It was a good thing; otherwise, he might have fucked her right through it.

Eric felt his mind drifting—drifting toward guilt, drifting toward how _wrong_ Nora felt around him, despite the fact that she felt so good.

He missed a beat with his thrusts, and as if she could sense exactly what he was feeling and as if she knew exactly how to make it better, Nora grunted loudly and quickly turned them around, pushing his back hard against the metal wall.

Her eyes blazed with both passion and caring—almost protectiveness. Her eyes told him to stop thinking and to just let himself be with her for a moment.

He thrust into her again, pulling her leg onto his thigh so that he could go deeper.

"I miss you sister," Eric said in Swedish. He _did_ miss her.

"I miss you too, my brother," Nora said softly—sincerely.

He knew she meant it. He knew that she wanted him to be there with her in that moment. He also knew that her wanting had little to do with the sex either. And somebody wanting him—all of him—was fucking nice.

He picked her up and wrapped her legs around his hips before turning her and thrusting back into her as her back thrust into the wall.

If it had been Sookie, he would have never pounded into her so forcefully—not that being gentle with Sookie had ever lessened his pleasure. On the contrary—it had _increased_ it to a great extent. He just never wanted to hurt her, and a vampire _did_ have to hold back with a human. That was just a fact.

Bill had purposely made Sookie feel insecure about this fact when he'd screwed Lorena. Of course, his motives had been pure; he'd wanted her to stay away from him. He'd wanted to hurt her so that Russell, his Weres, and Lorena could not hurt her worse.

But even the most well-intentioned actions often had consequences. Sookie had told Eric about Bill's comments during that long day in the cubby; she'd been nervous that he hadn't been satisfied by their sex and wanted to know if there was anything that she could do to make it 'better.'

He'd been flabbergasted by the notion. How could someone make "_best_" better? Even in his amnesic state, he'd not seen the logic in that, and he'd told her so.

She'd joked—in that insecure way she had sometimes—that he was likely just satisfied because he couldn't remember having sex with anyone else.

But that _wasn't_ the truth. The truth was that he'd _never_ felt anything as exquisite as being connected to Sookie. It wasn't so much that he had to "hold back" during sex either. It was just that they had _a way_ of moving together, which had felt perfect—_right_. It had come to them naturally, their bodies just seeming to react as one. They had flowed in and out of each other as if they had been practicing their dance for all of his thousand years.

No—screwing Sookie as he was screwing Nora _wouldn't_ have been possible.

Frustrated, Eric tried to shake himself out of his Sookie-induced haze. He was angry. His body just wanted to enjoy its fuck! But now that Sookie Stackhouse was filtering into his head, he felt his carnal passion moving away from him.

Eric grunted and drove into Nora again, glad that _at least_ his body still knew how to fuck, even if his mind didn't know how to enjoy it. He was irritated with himself for letting Sookie into this moment, frustrated that he could no longer just enjoy Nora without comparing her to a woman who clearly didn't want him as he wanted her. Mostly, he was forlorn that he would never again feel sex with the partner he truly craved.

Luckily, he was drawn out of his melancholic thoughts by the unlikeliest of sources, Bill Compton. He heard Bill's amused voice from outside, "You might want to keep the noise down in there. New Orleans is _only_ sixty miles away."

Eric—in that moment—was distracted just enough to pull himself out of his thoughts about Sookie so that he could refocus on Nora. If his vampire sister had known what he had been thinking even as he was fucking her, she would have likely kicked his ass.

"Thank you, Bill," Eric thought to himself. He was thankful for the "wake-up call," but even more thankful that Bill's voice had held no judgment. Of all people, Bill was the _most_ likely to judge him as unworthy of Sookie because of his actions with Nora. But the Civil War veteran's voice was dripping with sarcasm and amusement, not derision. And as Eric looked into Nora's eyes, he was thankful for that fact. Bill understood.

Nora was smiling like someone who had been caught doing something _very_ naughty. Her expression was delicious. Eric could work with that.

"What if he is right?" Eric purred in Swedish. He closed his eyes momentarily as he felt her clamp down her inner muscles. Yes—_delicious_. "Do you think they can hear us?"

He knew his words would get a rise out of her. Unlike a certain fairy-human hybrid that he was refusing to think about anymore, Nora loved a little exhibitionism now and then.

He trust deeply into her, feeling that she was close to exploding around him and wanting to be right there with her. He wasn't sure that he could be, but he was damned sure going to try, and if it did take him a bit longer to get to the promised land—well—then he'd be sure to give her a couple of additional orgasms along the way.

Suddenly he heard his phone ringing. "Sookie," was his initial thought. Very few knew this number. He'd programmed it into Sookie's phone _after_ she'd saved him from burning at the stake—just the night before. He'd programmed it _before_ she'd fed him and Bill―_before_ she'd rejected them both. But no—it couldn't be her. He'd given her a different ring tone. Knowing that it wasn't her gave him pain, and he kept thrusting into Nora, looking for some relief for that pain.

"What. Is That?" Nora asked, gripping his hair and yanking his head back.

So much for relief.

"Uhh," Eric groaned. Pulling anyone's hair fucking hurt—vampire or not. "That's my phone."

"You've still got your phone?" Nora demanded, her hand grasping his chin painfully. Gods, her grip was fucking strong, and it broke the fucking mood. He pulled out of her and quickly pulled up his jeans, giving her a little kiss on the cheek and then one on forehead―just to rattle her cages. Gods how he loved annoying her!

She slapped his chest in frustration and yelled at him as he walked out of the storage container to take his call. "How could you be so _stupid_?"

Eric smirked. She sounded like she was an infant at the moment. Yep—he _loved_ to rile her. He decided to act like an infant as well. He turned around toward the box car even as he tried to get "not-so-little Eric" back into the cage of his jeans and zipper him in. "My phone is untraceable, _Nora_!" he yelled petulantly.

He heard an "oh" from inside the old box car.

Bill was looking at him with a smirk on his face. Again, there was no judgment in that look, and for that Eric was grateful. He'd half-expected for Bill to go off on the lack of morality of Eric's actions, but thankfully, Bill was _not_ a hypocrite. After all, he'd slept with Lorena even as Sookie had been looking for him in Jackson. Sure—he'd had his reasons, but one of those had _certainly_ been lust. Another had been pain, and Eric appreciated the fact that Bill likely could empathize with the pain that was rebuilding in his chest—now that his immediate physical gratification was gone.

Eric decided not to be conquered by the feeling of guilt that was once again creeping into his chest. Thankfully, Bill was still wearing his smirk, and that gave Eric the strength to put one on as well. Who knew Bill Compton could come in so fucking handy!

"We fight like siblings," Eric said, finally caging the beast. "But we fuck like champions."

He glanced at Bill once more before digging his phone out of his pants.

Bill's look flashed from amusement to skepticism before Eric looked away. And—yes—Eric knew _why_ Bill's expression had changed. After all, Eric was skeptical too—skeptical of whether he would really ever be able to fuck like a champion again if his partner wasn't a certain someone, whom he still wasn't fucking going to think about!

He checked the number quickly before answering. "Alcide, my _faithful_ friend," he said, amused by his own little joke. His _thoughts_ about the Were were slightly less charitable. He didn't like the way the wolf drooled over a certain someone. "How are ya?" he tagged on.

As Eric listened to Alcide Herveaux tell him that the greatest enemy he'd ever known had been freed from his concrete prison, Eric _could_ have been thinking about many things.

He _could_ have been thinking about how it didn't much matter since he was already conveniently fleeing the area. He _could_ have been laughing at the double-clusterfuck he'd found himself in; being hunted by both the Authority and Russell Edgington at that same time had to be a fucking record of some kind. He _could_ have been berating himself for not just killing Russell when he had the chance. He _could_ have been chastising his asinine idea of letting Russell live and suffer so that he could never find his peace with his beloved, Talbot. He _could_ have been wondering why Godric's spirit had visited him that night as he'd buried Russell. He _could_ have been thinking about how all of this had started—with the deaths of his human family.

He _could_ have been thinking about a thousand things, but the only thing that entered his mind was the one thing that he'd been trying to keep out of it for the whole night: Sookie.

The Were was telling him that someone had obviously dug up Russell. Alcide added that he'd offered Sookie his protection but that she'd turned him down flat. Eric didn't know whether to feel heartened or angry that she'd refused protection. _It was just like Sookie._

He kept it together enough to end the call. "Thanks for letting me know," he said stiffly.

Immediately, he opened the bond and kept it open. And for the first time in his _very_ long life, he found himself in the middle of a scenario that he couldn't think his way out of—a Catch-22, the fucking _Kobayashi Maru_. There was no way to win.

He closed his eyes.

If he went to her, he would bring the Authority down onto her.

If he didn't, how could he protect her from Russell?

Bill asked in a throaty voice, "Eric, what is it?"

Eric didn't turn around to face his comrade right away.

He needed to think. He needed to breathe—even though he had no need of breath. He shot his hand up in a gesture, signifying to Bill—and Nora if she was looking on—that he needed a minute, and he _did_. He really fucking did!

He walked a few steps forward and breathed in the night air. In the industrial area where they had stayed, the air tasted of oil, but he still took it in in long drags.

His gut _screamed_ at him to go to his bonded—to protect her. But what good would that do? Then she would have the Authority _AND_ Russell bearing down upon her, and she'd be just as likely to accept his help—to accept him—as she had been the night before.

In fact, his presence would likely make things _much_ _more_ _dangerous_ for her. Russell was _his_ enemy first and foremost, after all. Sure—he coveted Sookie, wanted her, maybe even hated her for putting Talbot into the garbage disposal—but he wanted to kill Eric _more_. Of that, the Viking was almost certain.

Eric took a moment to full assess Sookie through the bond. She was safe. Anxious. Hopeful. Impatient. Sad. Guilty.

Alive.

And Pam was close to her—very close. And there was another vampire nearby too―another vampire he _felt_. And that could mean only one thing: Pam had made a child.

Eric shook that knowledge away for the moment and evaluated the situation.

"Logic Viking," he thought to himself.

He'd only seen _one_ being fight directly against a 3,000-year-old vampire and win, and that had been Sookie Stackhouse. The light in her hands had shot Russell across the fucking parking lot. But, then again, Russell had been injured at the time.

Eric closed his eyes tighter and prayed to gods he'd not spoken to in a millennium. "Please let him come after _me_ and _not_ her," he spoke to himself. "And if he does go for her, please let that power she has been gaining be strong enough to protect her."

His prayer felt like a shot into the dark—even to him—but it was all he had. Going to her now would be like putting any extra-large Russell-scented target onto her. If he stayed away, Russell might too—_at least_ until the elder vampire's desire to kill him was sated.

Eric assessed the bond again. Still the same. Still hurting, but safe.

He kept his feel planted. He _couldn't_ go to her, and he _wouldn't_ be able to help her even if he did.

Resolved, he turned around slowly and looked at the two vampires who were waiting for him to speak. He knew—fucking knew—that if he told Bill about Russell that God himself could not keep him from going to Sookie, but that would take the Authority to her as well, and Bill was even _less_ equipped to handle them or the Russell situation than he was.

And while Nora was an excellent sounding board, she'd be able to do _nothing_ about Russell either—at least not yet. No—he would follow Nora's plan, get the fuck out of Dodge, and then arrange for Alcide to send an anonymous tip to the Authority about Russell.

Russell had been buried in cement for over a year and had been resurrected from it for only a day. That meant that he would require some time to heal. Eric had a window—a window to figure out a plan to ensure Sookie's safety. It wouldn't be long—maybe a few days, a week at the most—but it was something.

He assessed. She was still safe.

Bill asked again, this time more insistently. "Eric, what's wrong."

Eric demonstrated that he had taught his sister _everything_ she ever knew about lying effectively. "It is Pam. She has made a new child."

Bill's eyebrow rose. "Why would _Alcide Herveaux_ feel the need to tell you that?"

In a millisecond, Eric had thought of a suitable reason—one that might even be true, given what he had felt through his bonds with Pam and Sookie, as well as Pam's continued proximity to Sookie. "It was a friend of Sookie's that she turned," Eric reported evenly.

"Who?" Bill asked, clearly shocked.

"The female," Eric ventured. Of course, the guess at gender was fifty-fifty.

"Tara?" Bill exclaimed.

"That's the one," Eric agreed. He had to think to himself for a moment to remember who Tara was. Oh—_yes_—the unpleasant one. Well, if it _were_ true, it would serve Pam right for trying to shoot Sookie with a rocket-launcher.

Bill seemed to accept what he was saying. Hell—even Eric was starting to believe his own lie. It was much less disturbing than the truth. And it _was_ plausible, after all.

"Why would Pam do that? Did she attack Tara?" Bill asked.

"Why does Pam do anything?" Eric returned enigmatically. "And no."

"I trust that this has upset Sookie," Bill said with concern.

"Yes," Eric confirmed. "But there is nothing we can do about it now."

Bill nodded in agreement. "This is likely what made her so upset yesterday. Something must have happened to harm Tara. Is Sookie safe?"

"Yes," Eric said assessing the bond. He decided to fill out his lie a bit, completing the picture he'd been weaving. "It was one of the necromancer's witches we'd missed―one looking for revenge. Tara was mortally wounded, and Pam was looking for me at the house. The witch has been eliminated, and Tara has been offered a new life. Sookie was unharmed." Hell—the story sounded excellent to Eric's ears.

Having accepted and processed the story, Bill nodded.

"We should go," Nora said.

Eric nodded. "Yes."

Nora threw him his shirt. Eric slipped it on in a flash and then caught his jacket as she threw it as well.

She walked over and whispered to Eric so that Bill couldn't hear. "This Sookie of yours is always in trouble, I assume?"

Eric nodded again, even as he checked the bond.

She was still okay. He was still not.

* * *

Eric stayed mostly quiet as they walked the three miles they needed to cover in order to reach the harbor. Nora had a schedule to keep with her contact, so there was no need to rush. He'd not even thought about picking back up where he and Nora had left off in the box car. Sex was not even on his radar at that moment.

Only one thing was: Sookie.

The rhythmic music of their boots against the wood and concrete as they traveled was soothing to him. It made nice background noise for his incessant checking on the bond and Sookie. She remained nervous and hopeful. Alive.

He checked on Pam too. She was pissed off, but also worried and excited. Anxious. He figured his new "grandchild" had not yet arisen, but he could _feel_ him or her, just the same.

Pam needn't have been worried that her child wouldn't rise, and in that moment, he felt a little guilty about not being there to let her know that.

He wondered if his new "grandchild" was indeed Tara. He would prefer Lafayette, actually; at least that human was amusing. Gods—he just hoped it was_ not_ Jason Stackhouse. _No one_ needed that boy to be a vampire.

Eric checked Sookie again. Fine.

As they approached the dock, Nora greeted someone who was obviously her contact as well as a friend.

Nora made introductions, which Eric honestly cared less about.

The woman she called Kat handed them new passports. Much to Eric's chagrin, Bill got the serviceable name, "Marcellus Clark." Of course, that left him with "Ike Applebaum."

As if.

Bill smirked. But Eric would get his revenge on "Mark Clark" soon enough.

The unpleasant woman was telling them that it was time to say goodbye, and Eric put his connection with Sookie to the side for a moment.

He'd spent less than 24 hours with Nora, but he would miss her—miss her more than if he'd spent longer with her. That's how it always had been with them.

He walked over to her and put his hands onto either side of her cool face. She was beautiful, and he _did_ care for her deeply.

"Take care of yourself," she said.

As he leaned in to kiss her goodbye, all hell broke loose! Machine gun fire surrounded them, and all of Nora's contacts evaporated in the way that all vampires did—when they had been hit in the heart with wooden bullets, that is.

Eric was surprised to discover that he'd not been hit at all—nor had Bill or Nora.

All three of them dropped fang and looked up at those firing upon them—not that this action did them any good. But Eric had always preferred seeing his enemy.

"In the name of the one true vampire Authority," an annoying and mechanical-sounding voice called out before spewing a bunch of drivel about the Authority's divine right. "Do not fucking move," the voice—thankfully—finished.

Eric _didn't_ move. He knew better than to move. And so did Bill and Nora. They were immediately surrounded and taken into custody.

Eric checked the bond.

She was still okay. He was still not.

* * *

[_**A/N:**_ So—I know that many of you likely wanted me to keep the Nora sex out of this, but you know my "rules." Plus, the more I write Nora, the more I actually like her. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for E/S, but Nora has a lot of potential (if it's not wasted). Okay, this is obviously it for last week's episode. I am now looking forward to tonight's! I wonder was craziness I will have to work with come tomorrow. I'll try to continue this story on Tuesday or Wednesday. Thanks for continuing to read! And I'd love to get your feedback.]


	6. Chapter 6: Torture

**Chapter 6: Torture**

**EPOV**

Torture—Eric had experienced _many_ types of it during his very long life.

When vampires thought of torturing other vampires, they tended to think of the mundane: silver. It was pathetic really—boring almost.

Certainly, being silvered hurt like a mother fucker, but the body healed from silver once it was taken away. Plus, the mind could be stronger than any physical pain; in fact, it _could_ be disconnected from that pain. Godric had taught Eric that. One only needed the right _distraction_ to concentrate upon in order to replace the agony.

A much more effective brand of torture was psychological. The threat of this kind of torture was why vampires cared about so few things in the world. To fear loss would mean that there was something there to lose in the first place.

That is why very few vampires connected themselves closely enough with another to be truly _moved_ by him or her. Even most makers held back a little from their children. Eric had with Pam. Oh—he loved her in his own way, but that didn't mean that he didn't hold back a little. Godric had taught him that too—the hard way.

Until a year and a half ago, Eric would have said that his maker was what he feared losing most.

One time in Istanbul—right around the turn of the fourteenth century—both Godric and Eric had been captured by a rogue vampire named Seth, a thug looking for more power than he deserved. Seth, who was both clever and cruel, decided that the best method to use in order to find out the information he wanted would be to have Godric and Eric see each other be tortured.

Indeed, it had almost worked—_almost_. After Eric had seen Godric's hand be cut off, he had considered telling Seth the location of his enemy, the one who was then employing Godric and himself. Eric had been tempted to squeal for approximately 5.7 seconds—an eternity to a vampire.

Godric had seen Eric's wavering look too, and he had never looked at him the same after that—never trusted him quite as much as he had. That had been the true torture in Eric's estimation. Of course the rogue vampire had never even realized that.

No—conventional torture was too "formal" to be truly painful. Too scripted.

It was the _unscripted_ that could truly hurt, for it could not be prepared for. Three images came to Eric's mind when he thought of the words "torture." One was of his maker ordering him off a Dallas rooftop. Another was of Sookie Stackhouse's back as she left him.

The third was the thought of someone hurting Sookie to get to him.

Eric assessed his connection with his bonded and found her emotions to be a mixture of fear and anxiety, but there was no pain in her. And he knew from her resolution, which dwelt right next to her other emotions, that she was not in imminent danger.

Maybe not being able to go to her was the greatest torture he would ever feel. No—that wasn't quite right. Not being able to get to her when she was being hurt—_that_ would be his greatest torture. It had hurt him a great deal not to go to her the night before when he'd felt her distress.

He just prayed to the gods and goddesses and Lilith and whomever else might be listening that no one ever found out _that_ little piece of knowledge.

He already feared that Russell suspected how much he cared for Sookie, and that alone was enough to make Eric's dead heart tighten.

Yes—torture.

* * *

After assessing his bonded woman—okay, not quite _his_—Eric turned his attention to the five other individuals in the back of the vehicle he assumed was taking him to face certain physical torture.

He kept his sigh to himself as he looked at Nora. Yes—she could be used again him, but he knew that he would not break at the thought of her pain, not like he would with Sookie. He felt like an asshole for thinking that way, but he also knew it was the truth. If he didn't break for Godric, he would not break for Nora.

Would she break for him? Maybe. But he hoped not.

Eric smiled ruefully. Suddenly "Ike Applebaum" was looking pretty fucking good. "Pity," he said out loud to no one in particular. Five pairs of eyes zeroed in on him in a flash.

He rolled his own as Bill gave him a questioning look.

"What _exactly_ would an Ike Applebaum do?" Eric asked anyone who was listening. "Accountant?"

"Undertaker?" Bill smirked.

"Perhaps," Eric ventured with a smirk of his own. "Taxidermist?"

"Hmm," Bill sounded. "Dentist?"

"Been there, done that," Eric observed. "Perhaps the name was a hint that I ought to being working at IKEA."

Getting the joke, Bill chuckled. "Manager, I'm sure."

Nora was looking at both of her fellow prisoners like they were adolescents.

"Shut the fuck up," came the voice of storm trooper #1.

Eric rolled his eyes again. He was already slightly pissed that one of the five beings in the transport had a gun trained on his chest. The little red light marking its target lay over his heart—_dead_ over it. It was annoying and fucking insulting—to tell the truth. After all, if he wanted to, he could dodge a single shooter, even at this range.

It was the twenty in the bus that was following them that he figured he would have the trouble with. Eric inhaled. In all, he smelled at least twenty-eight humans, between their vehicle, the bus, and one other SUV that was leading the little convoy. Plus, there were several vampires.

Was he dumb enough to let himself fall for a fairy-human hybrid who didn't want him? Yeah.

Was he dumb enough to go up against over thirty individuals—none of whom would lose any sleep if he was no more? _No_. A vampire had the draw the stupid line somewhere. He might be in a clusterfuck now, but he was at least still alive inside of that clusterfuck, and that was something to build from.

He took a look at Bill, his erstwhile monarch. Since he'd met Bill Compton, he'd had a range of emotions about him—most of which were negative. Lately, however, Bill had managed to pull himself out of the 'douche' column and land himself into the 'trusted associate' column. He just hoped that Bill would stay there and not prove himself a douche once again by succumbing to the torture they were about to face.

Unfortunately, Eric thought, the jury was still out, but he was going to bet on Bill to come through.

Bill had matured much over the years—not that his psychotic maker had helped with that at all.

But Bill had withstood Lorena and come out alive at the other end. And he'd retained some sanity and honor to boot, and for that, Eric had to respect him—at least a little. After their first meeting at Pam's brothel near the turn of the previous century, he had been tempted to end the young vampire's life.

Hell—knowing Lorena even casually, he figured it would have been a _mercy_ to any child of hers to grant him or her the true death.

But he'd admired the young vampire's loyalty and strength. And there had been something in Bill's eyes that had betrayed his misery. Perhaps, he had let Bill live out of the hope that he could find the strength to kill his maker. After all, that would have done the vampire community a huge favor. But that was not to be.

Eric couldn't help but to feel a twinge of guilt as he thought about how he'd invited Lorena to the show in Dallas—so to speak. And she had caused his beloved pain before Sookie managed to kill Bill's deranged maker. He'd not intended that, but it had happened anyway.

He'd not _intended_ to fall in love with a fairy either, but here he was.

Eric closed his eyes. Said fairy was still the same—still alive and safe, though clearly still hurting.

Eric shook his head to clear it. It had been eighty years after that night at Pam's establishment that Eric had next heard anything about Bill Compton. He'd been in the court of Sophie-Ann, attending one of her useless, insipid functions. He almost groaned, remembering how she'd been into Scrabble at the time. His ex-queen had been amused when Bill had asked to be in her court, mostly because of a longtime feud she'd had with Lorena, which had started over the king of Idaho, or had it been Iowa? Eric hadn't given a fuck then, and he still didn't give a fuck.

Sophie had gone on and on about how Bill had been able to manipulate Lorena so that he could gain his freedom. He'd managed to convince her that the only way they could _truly_ be together as "soul mates" was if she freed him. The fact that she'd had to keep him in a silver coffin for the last two years that they were together—just so that he wouldn't meet the sun—was a testament to both Bill's desire and commitment to get away from her. Yes—Eric thought—Bill _could_ withstand the torture of the Authority.

Eric looked at Nora once more. He knew that she could withstand torture if it were just herself in question, but would she fold to protect him? With his eyes, he begged her not to, but he still wasn't sure.

The transport pulled up in front of a warehouse that looked abandoned. From the smell of the thirty or so Weres patrolling the building, Eric knew better.

After being unceremoniously removed from the vehicle, Eric took in the area before being led inside. Nope—there would be _no_ fucking escape from here, he thought to himself. He would have to use all the guile he'd learned in his thousand years to even stand a chance.

As they walked in, Eric registered that Nora was speaking to a lovely vampire, whom she called Salome. Even as Nora assured the vampiress that she would never betray the Authority and that he and Bill could be valuable if they were kept alive, Eric got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Salo-fucking-me," Eric thought to himself. He steeled himself. This was just fucking _great_! If Salome were there, that would mean that the Guardian was too. Yep—their chances of true death just rose about tenfold.

After dismissing Nora, the vampiress, who was rumored to have seduced over 10,000 humans and vampires, turned her attention onto Bill and himself. After looking at her more closely, Eric figured that this figure was actually an underestimation—a gross one.

"Mr. Northman," Salome addressed him, "you're taller than I expected."

Eric kept his tone light, "I get that a lot."

"Well, life _is_ full of surprises—isn't it?" Salome remarked.

"Indeed," Eric thought to himself, even as he wondered how long it would take for the vampiress in front of him to try to seduce him. He figured that her seduction would come on the heels of his torture—_if_ he were still alive after that. The only question was: Would he take her up on it?

He remained unsure of that answer even as he tapped into his bond with Sookie.

Nora was denying her betrayal again when Eric felt an especially powerful jolt of fear from Sookie. He flinched just as Nora was slapped by Salome, and Bill gave him a look that told him to calm the fuck down.

With difficulty, Eric managed to school his features again. He assessed Sookie more fully. Despite that jolt, he knew that she was still not in grave danger. And responding overtly to anything done to Nora would do only harm in that moment. He gave Bill a little nod of thanks.

Salome led them to an elevator and used her bloody thumbprint to clear security before leading them to a room she called "reception." Actually, as Eric looked around the room, it seemed more like a cross between a set-piece from _Men in Black_ and a cheesy office building from the 1960's.

He looked at the walls and noticed several portraits of the current Guardian, one of which looked to have been painted by a Flemish master—no make that an Italian master, given the light used in the piece. He'd wager on Caravaggio, probably around 1609 or so—right when he was painting _Salome with the Head of John the Baptist_. Yep—that would definitely fit. "Well," Eric thought to himself, "at least the pair had verve."

From "reception," they were taken down to an _impressive_ row of silver-lined cells. Eric couldn't help but to notice that the guards were roughest on Nora—likely a display designed to get another rise out of him. It _almost_ did, but Eric reminded himself that he needed to keep it the fuck together.

He sat down heavily on the most uncomfortable "bed" he'd ever been on throughout his thousand years. "They must make these purposely uncomfortable," he remarked, again talking to no one. Still, he lay down and let his mind move to Sookie so that he could feel her completely.

Resolve. Hope. Planning.

Eric had to keep himself from getting hard then and there. If his Sookie—okay, not _his_—was planning, then that meant that she looked hot as hell in that moment. More importantly, it meant that she was safe, especially since her fear was gone again. He couldn't help but to be bolstered a bit.

"So, any ideas?" he asked from his reclined position.

"Not really," Bill answered, looking around the cell for a way out. Eric could have already told him that there would be none.

"Shhh," Nora sounded.

Eric wanted to roll his eyes. _Of course_, he knew "they" were fucking listening!

An eerie voice stopped him from teasing his sister.

"A little different on this side of the bars, isn't it, Nora?" the voice asked.

"Friend of yours?" Eric asked.

"Nigel Beckford," the little man introduced himself.

Right after Nora had informed them that Beckford had a propensity for eating babies, a voice from an intercom_ welcomed_ them. Eric tuned out the almost sing-songy voice as he checked in on Sookie. She was still okay.

Bill was insisting on Nora's innocence, saying that she was his prisoner. Eric knew that no one would buy that lie, but at least it gave them all a story to stick to.

The voice reminded them of the nine who were waiting to Bill and him them leave the state. He asked where they were heading, and Eric had to stop himself from snarking out "IKEA."

Instead he answered, "No idea."

Again Bill was trying to be gallant, as he asked for Nora and his release. Eric had to hand it to the Civil War veteran. He _did_ have balls. Bill insisted that Nora and Eric were following his orders.

Of course, the voice knew that Bill was lying. And, of course, that meant that 'Phase One' of the torture was about to begin.

Eric sighed as baby-eater Nigel yelled out, "Ugh—you just fucked us!"

Well—Eric thought with _some_ satisfaction—at least one person in the cells would deserve being tortured that night.

Nora was scrambling. "The U.V.'s," she said anticipating the pain.

Eric knew that the pain was coming too. And when it did come, it reminded him of the pain he'd felt as he'd burned alongside Russell Edgington in the sun.

And—_yes_—torture _did_ always hurt.

That was torture's job, after all.

Eric sank to his knees and, by instinct, he drew his coat over his face to try to protect his skin. But even as he did that, an image of Sookie came into his mind; she was dragging him into Fangtasia―dragging him to safety. Gods, he loved her.

The light was shut off for a moment, but not long enough to allow for any healing. No—Eric knew that the temporary reprieve was designed just so they could _anticipate_ the next burst of light. The second one lasted longer and, therefore, hurt more.

But Eric didn't feel the pain. Instead he took himself into the sun voluntarily and remembered himself swimming in the little lake near Sookie's home.

Yes—torture could be a bitch, but because he would always now associate the sun with the moment he'd seen _her_ hair glistening in its light even as he'd felt its heat warming the water, the sun would _never_ be able to harm him again.

Not really.

* * *

[_**A/N: **_Please forgive me for leaving this story for a while. I had a killer summer cold and then the ol' hubby got it. I also got a promotion at work, and that meant more "work." I had hoped to "keep up" with the episodes as the summer went along, but that might be impossible, given my new duties and my other story, but I will not abandon this project! I promise. Please remember also that I'm literally writing this on the fly and then editing it ONE time, so if there are errors (when there are errors), I would ask for your forgiveness. That said, I hope you like this. I continue to be enthralled as I enter the mind of the Viking.]


	7. Ch 7: Enhanced Interrogation Techniques

**Chapter 7: Enhanced Interrogation Techniques**

A thousand years had taught Eric many things about interrogation by torture. He'd been on both ends of the spectrum—the torturer and the tortured. He'd also observed others performing torture. By watching Godric's work, he'd literally learned from the best—so to speak.

There were six rules when it came to effective torture—or "enhanced interrogation techniques" as W. had so amusingly called them.

Rule one about torture was that the torturer always hurts you—_always_. Even if you started singing like a canary before the first infliction of pain, there was _no way_ to avoid what was coming. If you talked too soon, your captor would think you knew more or were lying. Once someone bothered to set up a scene like the one he found himself in right then—tied down to a chair with a tube attached both to his arm and a purposely menacing-looking machine holding some kind of liquid silver—he or she was _going_ to use it.

It would have been a waste not to.

Rule two was that the torture would _never_ kill you—not unless your torturers were inept or inexperienced. And as Salome got herself comfortable and gave him a look that bordered on compassion and intrigue, Eric knew that he was working with a torturer who was very, _very_ practiced. There were many kinds of torturers; the best always threw a little seductiveness into the process. Indeed, if Eric had to be tortured, having it done by Salome would _at least_ make it tolerable. It would be a story for the grandkids—so to speak.

And Eric _knew_ that Salome was not there to kill him; that option wouldn't be on the table unless the Authority members felt that he had nothing more to tell them—nothing of value. Torture was designed to _break_ a person—not to kill him or her. If the Guardian truly wanted him dead, he would _already_ be that way. Hell—there were garbage bags of Nan in plain sight when they were apprehended! And why kill the others on the dock, but not Nora, Bill, and himself? The answer was clear: The Guardian didn't want them dead—not yet at least. No—Roman still felt there was information to be gotten, and he'd sent his best asset—his consort for approximately 700 years—to get that information from him.

Rule three about torture was that once a person began to talk, he or she would end up saying _everything_. Most thought that they could give a little snippet of information—just enough to get them off the hook or to stop the pain. But that was wrong. That little piece of information was the opening that every good torturer looked for. The trick—then—to not giving any information was to think about the _worst_ thing that could be betrayed. In Eric's case, that was easy. He was currently checking on that "worst" thing even now through the bond he'd made with her.

Eric knew what would happen to Sookie if the Authority learned about her. And it wasn't "pretty" knowledge. No. If Eric said _one_ thing—_just one_—it would eventually lead to him saying _all_, and he would tell of Sookie. And _that_ could not happen—would not happen. There was never an "in between" with torture. Once one broke, there was no going back—_none_.

Rule four about torture was that the information one got during _physical_ coercion was often fabrication, and every torturer worth his or her grain of salt knew this. That's why—over the years—Eric had discovered that there were other ways, _better_ _ways_, to go about getting information. Psychological torture was _much_ more effective than physical—if one had the time to set it up properly.

Take Lafayette Reynolds, for instance. When Eric had caught Sookie's friend red-handed selling V, he'd initially had two options. He could glamour the man so that he would never sell V or take V again, or he could simply kill him. Most sheriffs would have chosen the latter option—an option that was "encouraged "by the Authority. But the appearance and attitude of Mr. Reynolds had amused Eric from the start. One didn't often find openly flamboyant black gay men in backwoods Louisiana, so Eric was going to simply glamour the man.

That was until Eric smelled that the blood in Lafayette's possession belonged to a vampire who was missing in his area. The blood was from a useless, sniveling vampire who should never have been made, but it was still Eric's responsibility to find out what had happened to him.

Glamour produced no clear answers from Lafayette, and since the man worked with Sookie, Eric knew that he could not use her gift to get the information he needed—though he would have otherwise. He had to fight to hold back a little smile. His Sookie—okay, not _his_—was like an anti-torture device. She could find out information using her gift, and that negated the need for physical interrogation. But she would have _never_ betrayed her friend, so Eric had had to use more conventional methods.

However, he'd not wanted to torture Lafayette physically. No—he'd done far worse. Leaving him chained up in the dank basement for days was well on its way to breaking the man. Then once Eric had allowed Lafayette to witness him literally ripping apart one of the arsonists who had burned Malcolm's nest, he truly became terrified. I few love-bites from Pam, Chow, and himself had sealed the deal—so to speak—and Eric had learned that Lafayette had been trying to protect Jason Stackhouse, whom he suspected had been involved in the vampire's disappearance. Lafayette's being shot was because of Ginger's ineptitude. But things had turned out well enough in the end. Yes—Eric was glad that he'd not killed Lafayette. He had been useful and amusing.

Eric once more hoped that it was Lafayette whom Pam had turned.

Eric sighed and looked over at Salome. She'd been staring at him for a good five minutes―saying nothing, doing nothing. He'd used this technique before, and he couldn't help but to wish that she'd just get a move on. It wasn't like a thousand-year-old Viking was going to cave from a stare-down.

Eric used the moment to check Sookie through the bond again. She was apprehensive, but okay otherwise. He steeled himself. Bonded only once, she would not feel the pain he was about to endure, and that was a small favor in and of itself.

* * *

"It's wonderful to be a vampire, isn't it?" Salome finally spoke.

Eric almost rolled his eyes. Yes—Salome was going to try to be a "good cop" as she worked. He intoned, "Generally, yes. Right now? Not so much."

She looked at him almost seductively. Eric admired her skill to be convincing in her role.

She spoke, "If you give me your _full_ cooperation, not only will we not need the silver, but you'll leave here a free man. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for your—uh—accomplice, Nora."

Eric had been right. Salome would be trying to use Nora to get to him. He knew that his sister would also be facing pain, but there was nothing he could do for her other than keep his mouth shut. His talking would only hurt her and lead to worse things for them all.

Eric smirked, "She won't leave here a free _man_?"

Salome let out a little laugh, but Eric could tell she didn't mean it. That was good—actually. Eric had spent a millennium enjoying being a smartass whenever he could. He realized in that moment that "sarcastic, smartass Eric" would be the perfect part of himself to stick with during his session with Salome, for it obviously flustered her to a certain extent. Her frustration only became clearer with her next words.

"Her betrayal was unforgiveable, and she met the true death," Salome reported, as if she was sorry about it.

Eric thought for a moment. Rule number five of torture was that the torturer _never_ told the truth, so his poker face held up. He knew that Nora was not dead. However, he also knew something else. Someone being tortured _could_ have an active role—rather than just be a passive participant—in the process. He'd always preferred to be active.

Eric was _certain_ that Salome had seen his flinch the previous night when she'd slapped Nora. Of course, she couldn't have known that his reaction was coincidental; he'd felt a strong jolt of fear from his bonded at that moment. If that had not been the case, then he would have held his countenance. However, Salome would have thought that he was reacting to the slap. And he could use her misperception to keep Salome from trying to find something or _someone_ that she could use to get a _real_ reaction out of him.

Therefore, Eric decided to "react" again—to pull some strings of his own. If he was lucky, Salome would assume that he and Nora were merely lovers. If he was _very_ lucky, Salome might somehow already know that he and Nora were related though Godric. That would explain Nora's motivation to help him better than anything else and might even get Nora off the hook. She'd be expelled from the Authority—no doubt—but she'd likely be able to keep her undead life. But, of course, Eric couldn't be the source of that information.

So after a few seconds of holding his poker face, Eric let it fall and showed his "agitation" over Nora being "dead."

Salome was waiting for her opening, and she was certain she'd just found it. She moved closer. The compassion was back in her eyes and her voice. "I know this must _pain_ you." She paused. "I'm sorry." Another pause. "But you _must_ understand that non-cooperation will not be tolerated."

Eric knew that Salome would strike while she thought he was vulnerable with emotion, so he knew what was coming next: a question he wouldn't answer and the beginning of the pain. One had to admire Salome's grace in going through the choreography, however.

"Now," she said, "was it you or Mr. Compton who murdered Nan Flanagan?"

There were so many things that Eric _could_ have said in that moment. He _could_ have reminded Salome that the Authority was probably happy that Nan had been eliminated. Nan's feeding habits did not work well against the image she was trying to portray, and she was _too_ visible. A scandal involving Nan would have been very damaging to the AVL, which was Roman's brainchild and pet-project. _Plus_, she was a bitch.

He _could_ have told Salome that he'd wished it would have been him who had killed Nan. He _could_ have said that he'd been relegated to storm trooper duty while the king got the honor. He _could_ have said a great many things, but he decided to go back to the sarcasm.

"Nan Flanagan is dead?" he asked, making sure he added a twinkle to his eye, just to increase Salome's consternation. Indeed―he thought―torture didn't have to be all bad. Salome's reaction was _amusing_.

Salome stood up, turned her back to him, and started up the silver drip with a flourish. Eric had to admire her style.

And, _of course_, the silver hurt like hell. Injecting it into the blood was certainly more painful than having it applied directly to the body, but pain was all relative. Godric had taught him long ago to have his _distraction_ ready—ready _before_ the first pain was inflicted. The moment he'd seen that it was silver to be used, he'd known what his distraction was going to be.

Even as the silver jetted into his arm and burned his blood, he thought of Sookie placing silver over his body because she _loved_ him—because she wanted to protect him from the witches. That too had hurt, maybe not quite as bad as what he was facing now, but it _had_ hurt. Significantly, Sookie had stayed with him all day and even helped to hold him down when the witch had begun her spell. She'd _cared_ for him. She'd spent all day just talking to him and holding him. She'd reminded him that she'd seen him under silver before—when he was willing to give up his life for Godric and her. After a while, the pain of the silver had been _nothing_ compared to the sound of Sookie's soothing voice and the feel of her body lying against his.

But the best part of the day had been when Sookie drifted off into a nap for about fifteen minutes. Her breathing had evened and her heartbeat had slowed. In her sleep, she had snuggled into his cold body like it was the most comfortable pillow in the world. She had sighed in contentment and then drooled onto his shirt. It had been beautiful.

The memory could be a powerful thing, and Eric's memory of that day—and that silver—was the perfect distraction to his current pain.

* * *

About an hour later, Eric had received about half of the silver in the canister. The questioning had continued, and Salome was really quite gifted in the way she combined compassion, seduction, righteous indignation, understanding, and anger into the session. Eric had learned a few tricks by watching her. She wasn't up to snuff compared to Godric in his heyday, but she was certainly above average. Eric would give her an A-.

Of course, Eric had continued to play the smartass whenever he wanted to fluster her. And he'd looked adequately "upset" every time Salome had told him that Nora was dead or dying or in pain. He was putting on a lovely performance—if he did say so himself. The pain had sucked—certainly—but his body was healing nicely.

Salome's questions had mostly been centered around the Sanguinistas, a group which Eric knew was trying to undermine the Authority and reinstate the Vampire Bible as the ultimate Authoritative Law for vampires. In short, they wanted to supplant the Authority and go back to the "good old days" when humans were seen as cattle. The difference was that they literally wanted to "rule the world" and turn humans into slaves, breeding the best of them for blood. It was a barbaric idea, and even though Eric had little time for humans for the most part, he had even less time for radical fanatics, who had probably watched _The Matrix_ as if it were a field-guide for controlling humanity.

No—Eric had very little time for radicals. He'd learned during his long life that _balance_ was key. Humanity and vampires needed to negotiate a balance of power that would work for both groups. And then Weres could be brought in, and a new balance would be established in time. Eric knew that one group having all the control would lead to unacceptable unrest in the other. And that would make war inevitable, and war was bad for business. Oh—it was fun to pull out the ol' sword every once in a while and play, but _true_ war was no fun at all.

The Viking way had stuck with him over the years; it was based on sound logic, after all. Raid when you had to in order to take what you needed or eliminate enemies before they could mount an attack against you. After raiding, get the fuck out and disappear into the night. Use the resources you'd taken from the raid to bolster your own defenses so that no one could get the upper hand on you. And, most of all, don't get fucking greedy!

Greed for territory stretched one's resources too thin. Greed for materials made one forget that family and honor were paramount. Greed for pleasure made one get sloppy and slow. Greed for power led to having a bigger target put on your own back.

The Sanguinistas were too fucking greedy by Eric's estimation, and the Guardian was _legitimately_ worried about them, apparently. But why would he think Eric and Bill were a part of that? He must suspect that Nora was a Sanguinista, but unless his sister had changed _much_ over the years, he didn't think she could be. Sure—she hated anything she viewed as unjust; however, she'd never been particularly radical. Plus, she'd taken her care of humanity even into her undead life.

It _was_ possible, however, that Nora was sympathetic to _some_ of the Sanguinistas' ideas. He knew that she believed in Lilith and saw the supposed-first vampire as a figure to try to emulate in many ways. She also believed that the creator—God—was a vampire. And she was quite spiritual in her own way; Godric had been the same.

On the other hand, Eric had never been one to dwell on the mystical. He was too practical for that. Plus, even after a thousand years, he still liked the Viking version of things best. _Yes_—Eric thought—if there was a god, he or she was sure to be a Viking. And Eric was still holding out hope for Valhalla. Indeed, that version of the afterlife had always sounded fucking amazing to him.

He closed his eyes as Salome paced the room. Yes. Valhalla _would_ be splendid. Only men and women of honor would end up there. He pictured Sookie before him in a white, flowing gown with the light of the sun and purple flowers in her hair. If there was a god who was benevolent enough to provide an afterlife, he hoped this would be his.

As Salome resettled herself on top of the little table and tried another stare-down, he once more checked on the object of his fantasy. Her emotions had returned to sorrow, but she was steady and calm. Eric was relieved.

He examined his torturer. She had not covered her own worries as well as she may have wanted to. She was concerned about the rise of the Sanguinista movement, and Eric knew that he could use that. He had an ace in the hole―so to speak. Russell Edgington could become the Sanguinista poster boy, after all. And he was older than any member of the Authority as far as Eric knew. The threat of a crazed Russell running around might just get Bill and him out of this mess _if_ they played their cards right. Bill and he would make excellent scapegoats to draw Russell out, and then if the Authority didn't fuck things up, they would kill Russell once he showed himself in the open. That would accomplish two positive things in Eric's eyes. First, it would ingratiate Bill and him to the Authority; they would owe them one. Hopefully, that "one" would be their lives—_if_ they survived Russell's attack, that is. But, more importantly, if Russell were dead, then that would mean he couldn't hurt Sookie.

Salome broke the silence she'd been holding for the last few minutes—ever since she'd asked him a question about the Sanguinistas, and he'd asked her if that was a new Latin boy-band he'd not yet heard of. Salome had not taken that comment so well, so he had gotten the silent treatment for a while.

Her voice dripped with false concern, "I'm afraid Mr. Compton doesn't have your backbone. He's been freed. And in return for his cooperation, he'll be reinstated as king. In light of that, is there anything you'd like to say?"

Again, there was a lot he _could_ say. He _could_ say that if Bill really had told them everything he knew and had compromised Sookie, hell itself wouldn't stop Eric's sword from taking Bill's head. He _could_ say that the color Salome was wearing was not that flattering but that her breasts looked nice nonetheless. He _could_ say that the new silver technique they were using was the best he'd ever experienced and ask for the "recipe."

But he settled for something classic. "Long live the king."

Eric almost chuckled at the predictability of Salome's reaction. Yep—time for more silver.

Before the pain even hit his body, Eric was already back into his _distraction_. The silver still stung like a son of a bitch, of course, but the memory of Sookie's tender touch took that pain away easily.

Yes. There were _six_ rules of effective torture. Number six? _Never_ let the one you are torturing take the upper hand.

Sadly for Salome, she seemed to know only the first five rules.

* * *

[_**A/N:**_ This will be the last chapter of this story for a few days. I need to do some work on my other story. And Monday and Tuesday will be killer busy at work since Wednesday is a holiday. Sorry. I was hoping to get more done today, but the hubby is still sick, so I've been doing some care-taking.]


	8. Chapter 8: Masochism

[_**A/N:** _Hello! This seems to be a good time to remind you all that I don't own anything here. I am utilizing a lot of the words from the episodes in order to delve into Eric's mind and "reinterpret" them, but not even Eric's inner workings are my creations. I'm taking them from Alexander Skarsgard's amazing eyes as I watch the episodes. This is my last chapter for Episode 2. I'll start with Episode 3 soon. Also, I have "added a deleted scene" at the beginning of the chapter. Enjoy!]

* * *

**Chapter 8: Masochism**

Eric was dragged back to his uncomfortable "bed" after the Salome had pumped the last of the silver into his arm. After a round of the UV light for no reason other than good measure, he was left alone to listen to the disturbed ramblings to Nigel. But Eric stayed both alert to and disconnected from his surroundings.

As Nigel droned on and on about the infants themselves being to blame for his attraction to their blood, Eric concentrated on his own blood within Sookie. She seemed more _concerned_ that anything else—almost as if she was looking for something. He wondered—just for a moment—if it might be him. Underneath all of her other emotions, after all, he continued to feel her longing―her discontent. And he knew that was the bond _pulling_ at her; her resistance to it would only make her more and more miserable. Hell—if it made her half as miserable as it made him, then she was in for a hell of a breakdown soon.

He sighed; he didn't want her to feel any more pain. He wished he could just take it all away from her like a white knight, but he was _not_ her desired hero. She'd made that abundantly clear.

He checked her again. And again, he felt her almost desperate need to search for and find something through the bond. He knew that no matter what she was looking for, it wouldn't really help her "find" what she needed. Her blood called to him, as his called to her now. Until the bond faded—if it ever did, given the fact that she was fairy—they would _both_ always be "missing" something. However, she had no idea what that "something" was. Of course, if he met the true death—as he likely would soon—then she'd be off the hook after about a week of unexplained illness; she'd probably think it was the flu.

He sighed and kept monitoring her as Nigel continued rambling. Eric contemplated trying to escape for a moment—just so that the UV lights would be used and Nigel would shut the fuck up for a few seconds.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Eric registered that Bill was being returned to his cell. Like Eric, he too was deposited onto his bed unceremoniously. And then there was another "obligatory" blast of the UV light.

Of course, Eric was _already_ ready for it, and slipped into his handy Sookie-laced distraction. If he were a lesser vampire, he might feel ashamed of using the woman who had spurned him as his go-to fantasy to overcome the pain of being tortured. But he was too practical for that. Before she'd rejected him, he'd _always_ intended to use Sookie for _all_ of his needs―fantasy or not. And she was _definitely_ handy for a distraction, even if that distraction did hurt his heart just as much—_no more_—than the torture hurt his body.

"I wonder if I'm becoming masochistic," Eric said out loud to no one in particular.

"Why?" came Bill's voice. "Did you enjoy being tortured this evening as much as I did?"

Eric chuckled at the sarcasm in Bill's voice.

"I was told you had _no_ backbone and dripped information like a leaky faucet," Eric reported.

"Yes," Bill said. "And _apparently_, you turned on me within the first five minutes of interrogation. Really, Eric, I thought so much more _highly_ of you before I learned that."

"Yes," Eric observed. "I _did_ rat you out quickly. And soon I will be living the good life—free to roam the earth for another thousand years. The Authority has also given me a harem of virgins for all the information I have given them."

"Ah," Bill answered sarcastically. "Only a harem? I was offered _all_ the virgins in Louisiana."

"Damn," Eric snarked, "I should have held out for more. Then again, are we really sure how many virgins there are left in Louisiana? I will take the surer thing."

The two shared a chuckle.

A few minutes later, Bill looked over at Eric, "You okay?"

"Nothing that a hundred year vacation encased in _cement_ wouldn't cure," Eric responded. His tone was light, but his eyes held _much_ meaning in them.

Bill's eyebrow rose, and Eric gave his ex-monarch an almost-imperceptible nod. He knew that his words might seem strange to those who were certainly listening in, but they would be unable to decipher them as anything other than sarcasm. And Bill—hopefully—would understand them.

After a moment, the Civil War veteran nodded back, and Eric knew that Bill had apprehended what they were _really_ talking about.

Bill spoke jokingly though his eyes held no light. "Do not give them any ideas, Eric. I would not want to find myself _buried_ in cement tomorrow evening. Why the chaffing alone would be _quite_ unpleasant."

"You're right, and I imagine it would be difficult to get cement out of one's hair," Eric remarked casually. "_Plus_, cement would _not_ hold us for long, and then our tormentors would have to come up with another plan anyway."

Bill's eyes flashed with fear for a second, and Eric knew that the younger vampire had understood his message. Russell had escaped. Eric just hoped that Bill would have the presence of mind to help him to make sure that they could use that knowledge to their advantage. From the determined look in Bill's eyes, Eric decided that he should trust his erstwhile monarch.

"Where's Nora?" Bill asked a few minutes later, though his voice didn't betray any concern.

"Well," Eric's tone was even, "I was told that she was killed, I was told that she was being tortured, I was told that she was being flayed alive, I was told that she'd confessed that we were _all_ Sanguinistas and then had been let go, I was told that she was a spy sent to infiltrate our kingdom, and I was told that she was the Energizer bunny. I am not sure which one to believe."

Bill chuckled. "I was told all that as well, except I believe it was the _Easter_ Bunny."

They looked at each other and said at the same time, "Bunnicula." They both laughed.

"_Very_ amusing," a voice came from the intercom above them.

"Ah, Dieter Braun," Bill said into the air, making gestures toward the intercom and then Eric. "Mr. Braun, I do not know if you have met my sheriff, Eric Northman of Area 5. Eric, this is Dieter Braun, my tormenter for the evening."

"Guten Abend," Eric spoke toward the intercom receiver as he bowed his head a little. "Perhaps I will have the _honor_ of your interrogation tomorrow. Salome was a _lovely_ companion tonight, but I like a little diversity."

With that, another wave of UV light came on.

After taking a few minutes to recover, Eric and Bill looked at each other and laughed again.

"Apparently we are _both_ masochists now," Bill remarked.

"Well, I hear it _is_ catching."

"Obviously."

"And it is a _convenient_ time for it," Eric replied.

Bill lifted his eyebrow in question. "Convenient?"

"Yes—since we are in a building full of sadistic bastards with twitchy trigger fingers when it comes to UV light and liquid silver."

There was another blast of the light.

After a few more minutes, Bill spoke. "Yes—_very_ convenient."

Both Eric and Bill laughed heartily.

Nigel whimpered from the corner of his bed. "And_ I_ am called the insane one?"

Eric and Bill laughed harder.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, a group of storm troopers came to collect Bill and Eric. Black hoods were draped over their heads, and their hands were cuffed in front of them with silver chains. Luckily, those chains had been encased in rubber so the silver did not sear their skin. Still they could not be broken through.

Eric knew that as they were led down a series of corridors that could best be described as a maze, it could mean only one thing; it was time to see the Guardian. In truth, this step was happening sooner than Eric had thought it would, and that meant that the Authority must truly be afraid of imminent action by the Sanguinistas, which played _perfectly_ into his plans. He just hoped that Bill would be ready to play his part.

* * *

Eric had never met Roman Zimojic before, but Godric had.

After the new Guardian had been named, Godric told Eric all he knew about him. Roman was powerful and ambitious, as well as egotistical. And Godric had both liked and disliked the new Guardian.

He'd liked that Roman had always had a "vision," and that vision was to make sure that vampires could have the _best_ lives possible. Over time, Roman had conceptualized "the mainstream movement." Godric had been much more overtly supportive of Roman's plan to mainstream, whereas Eric had been ambivalent. However, he had invested heavily in the creation of TruBlood and had made a small fortune off of it. Of course, that was just good business.

Whether vampires came "out of the coffin" or not, Eric had known that he'd do fine. He had always been adaptable and ready to change when need be. He was also patient enough to let the world change around him when that was the best move.

Eric had made _many_ fortunes over time, so when mainstreaming had become inevitable, he'd prepared himself for it just like he prepared himself for other evolutions throughout time. He'd prepared like a businessman, but he'd kept his sword sharp just in case.

He'd had Fangtasia ready to open one night after the Great Reveal. After all, human-vampire relations ventures like his club were "new" and, therefore, interesting to Eric; however, he would have found other things to occupy his time if vampires had remained concealed. He always had.

But Roman had been a visionary—and a practical one too. And for that, Eric admired him. Roman had understood that vampires would not be able to remain concealed because of the advances in human technology. Hell—Roman had foreseen those advances more than seventy years before when he'd first commissioned the development of a blood substitute.

And Roman had been crafty _and_ patient in implementing his plan to reveal vampires to humans. _Yes_—Eric could admire the Guardian's business acumen, just as Godric had always done. Because of Roman's slow introduction of the concept, very few vampires had resisted mainstreaming—at least not until the rise of the Sanguinistas.

And for the few who did resist it? Well—Roman was _also_ a ruthless dictator when he needed to be.

However, Godric had disliked Roman too. He found the vampire to be too arrogant and too quick to kill _all_ his opposition. Godric was always one to listen to his opposition and try to learn from them. He'd only kill them if necessary.

Roman, on the other hand, could not abide voices that too greatly differed from his own.

As Guardian, Roman had done much to make the lives of vampires easier, but Eric figured that he still hated _true_ opposition. He might give lip-service to the notion that he would "listen" to the other Chancellors of the Authority, but there were many rumors that he _always_ did what _he_ wanted no matter what the others counseled. Nora had hinted at that fact as well.

* * *

Bill and Eric were led into a room that—based on the air flow—was quite large. They were both forced to their knees, and their hoods were yanked off.

Before that had even happened, however, Eric had smelled Nora. She was alive, and he was glad of it. He figured that Salome would have reported to at least the Guardian that he was "susceptible" to his feelings for Nora, so once the hood came off, Eric made sure to look at his vampire sister and to show just enough emotion to be noticeable, but not enough to be "too" noticeable.

Roman walked in from a door behind Bill and him, and though Eric did not know the vampire, he _knew_ what power felt like when it walked into a room. Clearly, Roman was powerful.

Roman carried a little box in his hands and proceeded to conduct a ritual using a claw-like relic from that box. Eric had heard of the _Ceremony of Lilith_ before, but he'd never seen it. In truth, he had never had much time for rituals. Still, he watched the proceedings with the curiosity of a thousand-year-old seeing something new. Bill's wonder at the scene was more overt.

Of course, the whole ritual was a contradiction in Eric's mind. The fact that the same Guardian who so fervently believed in coexistence with humans would conduct a ceremony that was designed to connect the members of the Authority with Lilith and the _old_ ways was a paradox. The Sanguinistas held to the truth of the Vampire Bible and to the "divinity" of Lilith. They too had "holy relics" like the one Roman was holding and conducted similar ceremonies. Yet they were the enemies Roman clearly feared the most.

And _that_—in a nutshell—was why Eric had never really believed in the efficacy of such rituals. They could be too easily twisted to support the beliefs of almost anyone who wanted to utilize them. At best, that seemed like foolishness to Eric. At worst, it was hypocrisy.

No—Eric believed in the power of his hands. He believed in the quickness of his mind. He believed in the advice from his gut. And—as of about a week ago—he believed in the power of the heart to have the ability to trump all else. But he did _not_ believe that Lilith's blood was really on that relic, and he did _not_ believe that the Authority would be using her wisdom to deal with him and Bill.

As the ceremony progressed, Eric noticed that Nora attempted to go to her knees and take part in it as well, and in that moment, he saw her _differently_ than he'd ever seen her before. He saw a fever in her eyes that he'd never witnessed—a _desperation_ to participate in the ceremony honoring Lilith. In that moment, he wondered if he had been wrong about her not being involved with the Sanguinistas.

As soon as the ritual was over, Roman immediately took on his businessman approach, and Eric—for one—was grateful for that. A businessman―he _could_ deal with.

"Mr. Compton," Roman began, as he strolled back toward the conference table. "Mr. Northman," he said a little more stiltedly. "To meet under these circumstances—it is a shame—one of several recent _disappointments_." He glanced back at Nora. "You think you know somebody—consider them an ally for centuries. And when they betray you, they won't even tell you _why_—no matter how _persuasive_ you can be." Roman had been walking over to Nora and brought his hand up almost tenderly to her cheek.

In that moment, Eric realized that his sister had been intimate with Roman, but unfortunately, he didn't think that would do her much good now. His theory was proven correct as Nora was dragged toward the door. Eric was glad that he had been allowing agitation to show concerning Nora—because he truly felt restless as he watched her being manhandled. Whether she was a radical now or not, she was still his sister, and he cared for her. He let his agitation show on his face and in his movements as she was taken from the room yelling out her innocence.

He was beginning to suspect that she was _not_ innocent, however. Her guilt was like a smell in the air, and Eric was almost certain that a vampire of Roman's age would sense it too. He sighed, knowing that his sister's days on the earth were likely now more numbered than his own.

He looked down at the floor and quickly assessed his bond with Sookie. She too was agitated over something, but she was safe. He let himself recover and looked back up at Roman.

We're in a real pickle here, boys," Roman said. "According to Nan Flanagan, you," he paused and smiled as he gestured toward them. "What is it she liked to call you guys? Fuck-up one and fuck-up two."

Eric tuned Roman out for a moment as he gave a listing of their so-called crimes. Frankly, he was offended at being termed 'fuck-up _two_.' He'd have thought that he'd be 'fuck-up' number _one_ in Nan's book. He'd certainly striven to be over the years.

Eric had to hold in his smirk as Roman complained about the cost of keeping the Festival of Tolerance debacle covered up. Okay—Eric could agree with that one. It _was_ a fuck-up due to the necromancer.

Eric almost rolled his eyes as Roman brought them to his "point" that Nan was not a great prize, but since she was "Authority," he was going to have to roll some heads—so to speak. The hypocrisy once again disgusted Eric. He now understood what Godric meant when he said that he both liked and disliked Roman Zimojic.

Yes—when the Guardian pontificated, "_I_ am the Authority!" Eric knew _exactly_ what his maker had meant. Power and arrogance rolled into an expensive suit. Eric admired it and was annoyed by it all at the same time.

Roman turned his gaze—which was supposed to be foreboding—onto Bill. "The true death for Northman means the true death for Northman."

Eric held in his scoff. He knew that the Guardian was bringing up Bill's failure to kill him during his possession as a sign of Bill's insubordination. Again Eric was disgusted by the Authority's idiocy. Yeah—Bill _had_ been idiot #1 in that scenario since he'd contacted Nan out of jealousy more than true concern over Eric's possession. However, Bill had done the right thing in the end.

And in Eric's estimation, it was the Authority that was mostly to blame. They'd sent no one to offer help or to investigate the situation. He was a-fucking-thousand years old! He was a powerful and loyal vampire, and he had proven himself a good leader throughout the years. He was an asset to his underlings, his state, and the vampire community at large. And not even one Authority representative had been spared to investigate whether something could be done to break the witch's spell. Instead, within a few hours—probably fucking minutes actually—his true death had been ordered.

In Eric's estimation that was indicative of short-sightedness on the part of the Authority. He'd always blamed Nan for it; she _had_ despised him, after all. But now he also suspected _laziness_ on the part of Roman's little group. Well—he thought to himself—if they were lazy, then they would likely want some "help" in dealing with their problems. And that could work in his and Bill's favor.

Roman was changing his tact. He asked Bill if he was a Sanguinista.

Bill answered, "I don't even know what it is."

Eric wondered if his king was lying, but frankly, he didn't care. It didn't really matter. If they lived through this, however, he would have to teach Bill how to keep his ear to the ground so that he could better know what was going on in the vampire world.

"Mr. Northman?" Roman asked, now addressing him―obviously with the same question he'd asked Bill.

"Yeah, I'm tryin' to stay _away_ from politics as much as possible," Eric intoned.

"Are you?" Roman pursued.

Eric mumbled a response and then listened as Roman asked him whether he thought the concept of the "common good" was hopelessly naïve.

In fact, Eric did _not_ find it naïve; it was practical. If the common good was good for him too, he was all for it. However, he _very_ much doubted whether a vampire with as much ambition and self-importance as Roman Zimojic actually believed in the _common_ good. Roman probably felt it was beneath himself to even know what the word "common" meant.

Roman turned back to the Chancellors in order to ostensibly elicit their opinions. Eric knew that his and Bill's fate was hanging in the balance at that moment, and he studied the Chancellors to see if any were on their side—if any could be useful.

Okay—Eric thought to himself—the redhead in the bad suit, who said that they were "lame horses" that should be "put down" was _not_ going to be useful. Yep—when she turned to them and yelled out, "True death for these fellas," Eric's suspicions were confirmed.

Oh well—that was one down.

Eric let his eyes move to the next speaker. Eric did not know who the black vampire was, but he could sense his age. And he _liked_ him immediately. He reminded the members of the Chancellery that Bill and he _had_ destroyed the necromancer. Damned right they had!

This one, Eric thought, could be useful.

As Eric noticed the truly hideous and useless decorative bowl on the table (he'd never understood bowls that held nothing), the "little boy" of the group slammed his fist against the table.

Eric rolled his eyes. He knew three things in that moment. The first was that the tantrum-throwing diminutive vampire would _not_ be on their side. The second was that young ones who were turned ought to be put down immediately. Generally they were, but someone had apparently "missed" this one. The third was that this vampire was probably the most powerful of all the Authority members, other than Roman. Otherwise, he would have been killed by now.

Roman held up his hand and _stopped_ the debate, even as he remarked that the Council had been having heated debates over what to do with them. Again, Eric almost rolled his eyes at the irony. Roman might like to give lip-service to debate, but he _clearly_ liked the sound of his own voice too much to truly welcome them. Godric had been right.

The Guardian walked toward Bill and him again, stating that all the members of the Authority had committed themselves—their very lives and "destinies"—to mainstreaming. With dramatic flair, Roman stepped in front of them.

"Co-existence with humans is not an option; it is a _necessity_," he stated. "It is merciful. It is just. It is _vital_."

Eric agreed with the "necessity" and the "vital" parts, especially now that vampires had been exposed to the human world. The "merciful" and "just" parts seemed like posturing on the Guardian's part—like sound-bites from a politician. Eric hated fucking sound-bites—except, of course, when he was the one biting.

Roman continued, "Not to mention that they outnumber us a thousand to one."

Eric certainly agreed with _that_ point. He watched as the Guardian grew more and more agitated, especially as he mentioned fundamentalism. _Yes_—everything seemed to go back to that for Roman, Eric observed.

Salome stood up and opened a case holding an ornate stake.

Roman asked, "Do you have anything to say before I pronounce sentence?"

Eric could think of a hundred things he wanted to say, but very few of them were to Roman Zimojic. He checked his bond with the woman that he wanted to say _most_ of those hundred things to, but only one of them seemed important now—"I still love you." Unlike earlier when he'd been in physical pain, he wished that their bond was complete so that he could send her love and comfort in that moment. Perhaps, it was selfish, but he wanted the woman he loved to _know_ that he loved her—to _feel_ it down to the bone—one more time before he met the true death. "I still love you, Sookie Stackhouse. I will always love you." Yes—those were the words he wanted to say, but they were _not_ for the vampire holding the stake that threatened his heart. They were the woman who held his heart.

For a moment—just one—Eric was lost in his emotions. They swirled of regret and loss and mourning. They beat with desolation and denial. There were things that he needed to say to Roman—plans that he needed to implement, but he was on his knees and paralyzed by his feelings in that moment.

Thankfully, Bill stepped up to the plate with the perfect opening.

"I offer you an exchange," Bill said. "Our lives in return for Russell Edgington."

Eric had to admit that he was really, _really_ starting to like Compton.

The Viking shook himself from his thoughts about Sookie. Right now, he had to remember that he wasn't dead yet, and that meant that he wasn't _done_ yet! What he needed to do was use everything that he'd learned about Roman and Salome to his advantage, and he needed to do it goddamned now!

Eric sneered as "bad-suit" vamp started to laugh at Bill's statement. Little did she know. Quickly, he shifted his gaze to Roman, and he instantly knew that Bill had made the right play. And Eric was now ready to play his part as well.

Roman immediately went into denial mode—as if Nan saying Russell was dead on national television made it true.

Bill told the Guardian the truth. "Sheriff Northman and I consigned him to the ground, but we did _not_ kill him."

Eric watched as the members of the Authority looked at each other in doubt. _Yes_—Eric thought—they were pretty much shittin' bricks, as the humans might say.

Bill twisted the dagger, "Tragic mistake."

Eric decided it was his turn. Bill had set him up perfectly, and Eric intended to finish the job.

"Because he has now broken _free_," Eric said with a hint of sarcasm.

Bad-suit, as he'd expected, was the first to react.

Roman stared him down—or tried to. "That sounds like a lie to me."

"But it is the truth," Eric said evenly. Then his voice turned deadly serious. "Whether we live or die, you _will_ find out soon enough."

With murder and fear in his eyes, Roman began to approach them, but Salome stopped his progress. She claimed to be "intrigued"; however, Eric saw uncertainty in her eyes.

"Russell wants _nothing_ more than anarchy," Bill accurately stated. "If you would like your entire mainstreaming agenda _and_ your administration with it to be completely obliterated, then—_by all means_—ignore me."

Eric wanted to pat his younger companion on the back and arrange for him to have a nice plump donor in that moment; most Fangbangers were too damned skinny to feed from properly. Eric couldn't have said it any better himself, but to someone of Roman's ilk, information coming from a king—even one as young as Bill—would be taken more to heart than information coming from a "mere" sheriff. Yes—Eric thought—Bill had _certainly_ received the hint he'd dropped about Russell and run with it nicely.

"The only thing Russell wants more," Eric added in order to keep the fuse burning, "is to see _us_ dead."

"Why?" Salome asked. Now, Eric noticed, she really was intrigued.

"He pissed me off," Eric reported enigmatically. "Then I pissed him off." He shrugged, "You know how these things go."

Roman was not satisfied, "No—I don't! Why would you keep Russell Edgington alive?"

Bill once again stepped up. "After what he did, we felt the true death was too good for him."

Yep—Eric was _definitely_ going to have to arrange for a nice donor for Bill—maybe two. That is, _if_ they lived through this. He'd even trouble himself to find out the younger vampire's favorite blood type beforehand. Of course, he figured that Bill's _true_ favorite type was "Sookie-flavor," but Eric wasn't willing to go that far.

"We wanted him to suffer," Eric added.

Eric smiled to himself. The Guardian was posturing about Bill and him not following the orders of the Authority, but it was just that—_posturing_. Clearly, Roman was now in "full-tilt," as it were, and that was the _best_ possible thing for Bill and himself—_if_ they could survive the next three minutes, that is. They would need Roman's fear to outweigh his anger. Eric gave them a fifty-fifty chance.

In a moment, Roman was over his sleek conference table and had a stake aimed for Bill's heart. Okay, maybe forty-sixty.

"Well," Eric thought, "at least the stake's not over _my_ heart." Then he thought again. He wasn't about to let Bill die "for him." That would be demeaning—fucking demeaning! Plus, it would serve _no_ purpose. Of course, he didn't want to die in Bill's stead either, but he was damned sure not going to lose a "Supernatural pissing contest" with him either, so he made a calculated risk. He didn't really believe that the Guardian would strike. Okay, at least forty percent of him didn't believe it.

"Guardian!" he yelled, his voice echoing with the authority of his own thousand years. _That_ got the Guardian's attention. Yeah—Eric was pretty certain now that he could take Roman in a _fair_ fight. "I was the one who did it," he said calmly.

Roman seemed to be foaming at the mouth. He seethed at Bill, "You are king and you allowed him!"

Yeah—Eric was now damned certain that Roman didn't want to try to take him on, which was why he kept his focus on Bill. That _was_ good to know.

"Lilith help me, I am going to stake you!" Roman raged as he brought down the stake within a quarter inch of Bill's flesh.

Eric was relieved—_not surprised_, but relieved nonetheless. Bill and he were winning the battle—at least for the moment.

Roman walked away, pontificating about the fact that he now understood that many things were more important than his "personal feelings."

Eric smirked to himself. He doubted _that_ very much, and given the little "tell" that he'd picked up from Roman when he said those words, he was pretty sure that he would like to play poker with the Guardian. He would likely be able to build a franchise of Fangtasias with his winnings.

Bill spoke sincerely, "Guardian I promise you. Now Russell is free, he'll stop at _nothing_ to find us. And when he does, _you_ will be there to put an end to him as we _should_ have."

Despite everything, Eric knew that the vampire beside him spoke his true feelings. Hell—Eric knew what was paramount on Bill's mind, for it was the main thing in his own too: Sookie. Killing Russell would help to keep Sookie safe. Not killing him had been a mistake. But right now, that fact was going to save their lives―at least for another night.

Bill continued, "I offer this to you as a final gesture of solidarity. I, like you, believe that mainstreaming is possible and essential. Russell _must_ be stopped." Bill paused. "I fully expect to meet the true death either way."

Eric realized that Bill was still being sincere, and in that moment he decided that he was going to do everything in his own power to keep Bill alive—that is, right after he made sure _he_ stayed alive.

And Sookie. Sookie had to live too. He checked the bond. She was still there.

Yes—Eric thought to himself—he was turning into a fucking masochist.

* * *

[_**A/N:**_ Hello and happy 4th of July—if you are in the U.S. and celebrate it! I hope you liked this chapter. It turned out "not so little." I wanted to respond to many of your comments for the last chapter since I haven't had the chance to answer them personally. A lot of you liked Eric's little "treatise" on torture and were curious about where it came from. I'm somewhat "ashamed"/"delighted" to admit that it was from my own twisty mind (though if I were torturing, which I wouldn't because I think it's wrong, that's how I would do it). I was doing some Viking channeling when I wrote it.

Again, thanks for reading! Forgive this chapter if it had more typos than usual. It was a long day, and I decided to write it with a glass of wine in hand—okay two.]


	9. Chapter 9: Perfectly Scripted

**Chapter 9: Perfectly Scripted**

Eric couldn't help but to notice just how perfectly placed he and Bill had been on the circular symbol on the floor. Just like all older vampires, he recognized the design. It was originally a symbol for Lilith, but over the millennia, it had become the mark of the Authority itself as well.

As he and Bill had been pushed onto their knees, they'd had hoods over their heads, so it had been their _captors_ who had placed them so perfectly there. They were obviously being recorded. And if the hairs on the back of his neck were any indication, they were being watched by more than just a tech-man. No—Eric had the undeniable sensation that he was being _studied_ by someone he could not see.

As Eric listened to the members of the Chancellery debate his fate, he realized that there were two definite sides to the table. Bad-suit, Dieter Braun, and the little kid were clearly in the camp to kill Bill and himself.

On the other hand _and_ the other side, Salome and the black Chancellor, whom Eric was _really_ starting to fucking like, were clearly advocating to let them live. And Eric figured that Salome would be on the side that Roman was actually on. Her argument was to use Bill and him to draw out Russell. It was reasoned and practical, but Eric wondered if her "job" that night had been to make sure that he and Bill lived all along.

Sure―she'd presented Roman with the stake that he was still carrying around, but when she'd done it, she seemed to be participating in a performance more than truly thirsting for their blood. Yes—Salome was playing her part with just as much expertise as she'd played the role of torturer earlier.

Eric realized that his and Bill's fate was already a foregone conclusion. He and Bill _would_ live through the night.

They _always_ were going to.

In that moment, Eric's quick mind was spinning, trying to arrange pieces of a puzzle that had been set before him upside-down.

A script—_THAT_ was what Roman seemed to be following. Somewhere, there was a fucking script! Otherwise, he and Bill would already be dead—would have been dead back at Bill's mansion or on the pier after they'd escaped once.

They'd been placed on that circle on the floor as if it were a "mark" for actors.

Or perhaps he was reading too much into their position. Perhaps, Roman was just anal about such things; from the looks of his perfectly tailored suit―complete with perfectly pressed red handkerchief standing out of a perfectly-sized little pocket―Eric knew that Roman liked things "just so." But Eric couldn't shake the feeling that he was in the middle of a play.

Eric wondered if this whole production—_including_ Roman's anger—was all for the benefit of the others in the room, especially those on the "bad" side of the table. There was something in Roman's eyes that spoke of "more"—a mystery of some kind. Eric wondered what the fuck the mystery was.

He ran through what he knew.

_**Number one:**_ Nan Flanagan had been sent—as her _last_ act for the Authority—to kill Bill and himself. If she'd have just been sent for Bill, then that would have been no stretch for her—_no_ problem whatsoever. Had his ex-monarch—or was it current monarch again?—been by himself, she was old enough to take him down easily.

However, she'd specifically wanted to meet with both Bill and himself—_together_. Or—at least—that was the summons that he and Bill had received from the Authority about ten minutes before Nan had shown up.

And there had been _only_ three guards. Nan and three storm troopers would have _never_ been a large enough force to take him out; he was a thousand fucking years old, after all.

And Roman would have known that unless he just _allowed_ himself to be killed by then, it wasn't going to happen. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Roman had _wanted_ Nan dead. He just didn't want to get his own hands dirty. So he'd decided to give Bill and him the _parts_ of her executioners.

_**Number two:**_ Bill and he were still alive. Why? Had Roman wanted to tie up all lose ends, he would have killed his executioners. He would have washed his hands of the whole bloody mess. It didn't make fucking sense to Eric. Nan was ostensibly sent to kill them, but they killed her instead. And then—_not two hours later_—came a force ten times larger than Nan's. And that force included a number of strong vampires, including Nora. Did Roman know Nora would try to free him? Eric didn't think so, but it was possible.

Regardless of Nora's part, however, it wasn't logical that the larger force wouldn't just complete Nan's failed task: to kill Bill and him.

After all, they had clearly just _added_ to their crimes! And it wasn't like they could deny it since there were still bags of Nan goo around the mansion. Why would Roman bring them here after that?

It _wasn't_ just to kill them. That would be an utter fucking waste of resources, and Roman didn't seem wasteful. No—everything about Roman was too "perfectly placed."

_**Number three:**_ Bill and he had put a wrench into Roman's plans when they escaped from the trunk. Nora had added to that wrench by helping them after that. But Roman _hadn't_ been fooled by Nora's phone call. He'd sprung a trap to ensnare them at the pier.

How did he know they would be there? Were her confederates on that pier Sanguinistas? Did he have a mole in Nora's group? Or could Nora have been helping Roman entrap them there all along? Why go about it like that?

No—Eric thought—Nora was _truly_ up the shit-creek now, and he didn't believe that she was working towards Roman's ends—at least _not_ by her own volition. She was, perhaps, being pulled around like a puppet on a string—another unwitting actor in Roman's production—but she had no knowledge that she was _acting_, at least none that Eric could discern.

And that meant that Roman had gone to great lengths in order to find and apprehend Bill and himself. He wondered why. He wondered if there was something bigger he was missing.

Nora's possible connection to the Sanguinistas had obviously rattled Roman. Did the Guardian _really_ think that he and Bill were involved with that group?

Eric _highly_ fucking doubted it. In their own ways, he and Bill had been visible supporters for the mainstreaming movement. His Public Service Announcements—though a pain in the ass to do—had a large Internet following around the world. Hell—his "fans" had devoted countless Websites to him, most of them 'litanizing' and objectifying his every feature as if he were a piece of meat.

Of course, Eric didn't so much mind _that_ part. It was quite amusing actually, and lording it over Pam throughout the last year had been one of the few bright points of his existence after Sookie had disappeared.

He quickly checked the bond. She was still there.

Eric glanced at the man beside him; he _knew_ that his erstwhile king was not a Sanguinista. Bill, though at an extreme from himself, was a very committed and visible mainstreamer. Even though the Festival of Tolerance had been an epic clusterfuck, Bill had spun the situation better than even Nan had. And it _had_ been "fixed" quickly—as even Roman had admitted.

No—Bill was a respected public figure, a natural and consummate politician, with genteel Southern manners thrown into the mix. Roman _had_ to know that he and Bill were _clearly_ not Sanguinistas. Hell—if they were, then they were going about it in a _very_ fucked up way.

_**Number four:**_ Roman had _wanted_ them to clean up the Nan mess and then be brought _to_ him. He'd needed them for something, but Eric still wasn't certain what that _something_ was.

Clearly, Roman had been sidetracked because of Nora's actions and was now being further sidetracked by the menace of Russell Edgington. But there was undoubtedly more going on than met the eye.

There _had_ been a hint earlier, and Eric continued to process that little nugget. Why had Roman taken the relic of Lilith and completed the ritual as if speaking to someone behind them—as if placing an offering to someone "just offstage?" Eric had seen the doors behind Bill and him when he'd turned briefly to observe Roman. Now he wondered just who was behind them.

And, _more importantly_, he wondered if there was someone pulling Roman's strings too. And if so, who could be more powerful than the Guardian? Only _one_ being that he could think of, but that would be impossible—right?

* * *

Eric was brought out of his reverie as Roman "finished up" the Chancellors' "debate." Yes—Eric realized, looking into Roman's eyes—their survival _had been_ a foregone conclusion, but Roman too had played his part well.

"Chancellors, thank you for your input," Roman postured. "Be assured that I will take it all into advisement."

Eric noticed a knowing look pass between Roman and the black Chancellor. Yes—they were _all_ playing their parts―weren't they? Even if some of them didn't know it, their strings were being pulled left and right.

"Bless the blood," Roman said, words that seemed to mark the dismissal of the Chancellors.

"Bad-suit" gave him a brief sneer as she passed him, and he gave her a little wink as he fantasized about twisting the cheap pearls that hung so tightly around her throat until her head popped off. Yes—he thought—that _would be_ satisfying.

As the others were leaving, Roman asked Salome to stay. Clearly the scene was _not_ _quite_ over yet. Eric narrowed his eyes and watched the pair, wondering what would happen next. He knew for fuck sure that it would _not_ be their true deaths.

As soon as the chamber door closed, Roman began speaking as he casually put the stake away, "The Sanguinistas have turned Russell Edgington into some kind of hero for ripping out a man's spine on T.V. He has become the _poster-boy_ of the _anti_-mainstream movement—their Osama Bin Laden." He paused briefly as he walked toward them. "Do you know the _one_ thing more dangerous than a martyr?" He answered his own question. "A three thousand-year-old vampire who hasn't fed in over a year."

Eric fucking agreed, and he checked his bond with Sookie because of that agreement. She was still okay.

"Suffering does not _kill_ the appetite for power," Roman continued as if speaking from experience. "It _exacerbates_ it."

As Roman continued speaking about his unwillingness to let his Guardianship "go swirling down the shitter," Eric continued to size up the vampire in front of him.

Roman was scrambling to hold onto his control of the situation. He was scrambling to keep the Sanguinistas at bay and keep his power intact. Perhaps, the Guardian had been hoping to procure his and Bill's help to do just that all along. Perhaps, _that_ was the reason they had been brought there.

Roman had not known about Russell—_clearly_—but he was no idiot. If the Sanguinistas had broken Russell out, then he might be able to find them by drawing out the ancient vampire—or, rather, using Bill and himself to draw him out. He could kill two birds with one stone.

Regardless, Roman had decided to use Bill and himself for his own purposes; he'd most likely decided to do that even _before_ he sent Nan to them.

Eric again wondered if there was an ultimate puppet master in the wings of the stage.

As Roman finished his little speech, he looked straight into Eric's eyes. "Do you understand what I am saying?"

Eric returned Roman's direct look. He understood _more_ than Roman's words. "Absolutely, Guardian," he responded.

Roman then looked at Bill, with slightly less intensity.

Bill answered, "We'll bring him in," he paused, "or die trying."

Eric checked the bond. She was okay.

Yes—he _would_ die trying. He _had_ _to_ make sure his bonded stayed safe. The fact that she didn't want to be his was no longer consequential. It hadn't been since his conversation with the Were.

Roman looked toward the ceiling and signaled. The gesture was likely designed to communicate to whomever had been recording the proceedings.

* * *

Less than a second later, a couple of vampire guards had Bill and him in their grasps and on their feet again. They led them out of the room and into the corridor—this time without the hoods over their heads. The hoods had evidently been a prop for the _other_ Chancellors to see―_not_ a devise to keep Bill and himself from finding their way back.

Interesting. Meaningful.

_Yes_—he had just been an unwitting actor in a play.

"Well," Bill said as soon as the door closed behind him. "_That_ could have gone worse."

"I wonder," Eric said enigmatically.

Bill looked at him in question, and Eric gave him a little smirk.

"So, " Eric winked to the guard who was holding him, "who will I have to screw around here to get a shower and wardrobe change? You?"

* * *

[_**A/N:**_ Okay, I am really going out on a limb here. I am trusting that the powers that be at _True Blood_ have a reason for the lack of logic in some of the occurrences so far this season. I'm crossing my fingers that I'm not totally off base and putting my faith into them. Probably—a big mistake. Sigh.

Thanks for continuing to read this story! FYI, I have also put this story—and I'm currently adding my other works—onto my new WordPress site. So if you prefer to read from there, it will be updating as updates. (Also, I can use pictures there, which makes me happy.) Here's the address. You have to take the spaces out. californiakat1564 . word press . com]


	10. Chapter 10: Harnessed

**[A/N: This chapter includes some "deleted scenes" as well as one you have seen before. As a reminder, this story is designed to follow along with the plot line of Season 5, even as it delves into and tries to make sense of everything from Eric's POV. My goal is not to change things too much, so that means that much of the dialogue is transcribed from the show. I mean no copyright infringement. I own nothing related to _True Blood_ except the ideas that it inspires in me.]**

* * *

**Chapter 10: Harnessed**

Thankfully, it turned out that a shower _was_ on the agenda; unfortunately, the stall he was led to was miniscule, and he was eye-level with the damned nozzle. God—Eric despised having to bend down to wash his hair.

"What? Did we lose a fucking war?" he asked the shower stall.

Still, the water felt good and there was soap. And—at this point—Eric was grateful for small favors. As he lathered up a second time—hoping that it would _finally_ eliminate the lingering stench of Nan Flanagan from his body—he allowed himself to open his bond with Sookie completely.

He had never been as comforted _and_ as pained by anything in his entire existence.

Sookie was agitated as if she were still looking for something, but she was also extremely determined. He felt his cock begin to swell. God, he loved her determination.

He closed his eyes and stroked himself a little, imagining the set of Sookie's jaw and the light in her eyes when she was determined. "Fairy Sookie," he thought to himself.

Eric' self-stimulation was interrupted as he felt a strong surge from _both_ of the bonds within his body at the same time. His body tensed; something was happening to Sookie and Pam. His first thought, of course, was Russell Edgington. Powerless, to do anything and fearing the worst, he monitored the two beings he cared about most in the world.

Sookie was frightened and he felt pain coming through the bond. He gasped. Thankfully, the pain was almost immediately replaced by anger, and then there was a surge of energy through him—almost like a heartbeat. After that, Sookie's emotions leveled out a bit. Meanwhile, Pam, whom Eric knew had been worried and annoyed all night, was suddenly enraged, and then there was an unexpected burst of pain from her.

Sookie's surge of power and Pam's pain had occurred simultaneously within him. Despite that, he sighed loudly in relief, knowing in that moment that it wasn't Russell who was threatening Pam or Sookie.

Eric didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out that the two most important women in his life were once again having an altercation—a physical one this time. And it didn't take a rocket scientist to know which one had won either. Pam was fuming and felt shame, whereas Sookie had settled down and was feeling satisfied with herself; she was agitated as before, but she was fine otherwise.

Neither of them had felt pain for long. And, for that, Eric was grateful.

He couldn't help but to feel proud of Sookie—proud and hopeful. If she were able to take on Pam and walk away alive—especially given Pam's recent attitude and behavior regarding her—then she might be able to defend herself against Russell.

Eric closed his eyes tightly and shut off the water. Every instinct inside of him was screaming that he should go to his child and his . . . .

What was Sookie to him? His beloved? His ex? His torment? The bane of his fucking existence? His wildest dream? His _anything_? His _everything_?

"All of the above," Eric said to the tiny shower stall as he stepped out and began to dry off. Quickly, he put on the change of clothing that he'd been given, thankful not to have to put back on his own blood-stiffened garments. He was amused to see that his new 'outfit' came complete with a pair of flip-flops.

He opened the door that led to the room where the guards were waiting for him. Bill was already there.

"Ah—look, honey," Eric intoned, "we have matching outfits again."

Bill smirked. "Indeed we do."

"Not as swanky as the robes though," Eric observed.

"_Later_," Bill joked.

* * *

Bill and he were led down yet another of the endless corridors that filled the subterranean levels of the building.

Upon reaching their destination, they were pushed into a sparse room. A young vampire, who looked like she'd been turned about a year before and who could only be described as a "cute little computer geek," ordered them to strip off their shirts as she opened a suitcase and took out what looked to be a harness of some kind.

"Kinky," Eric thought to himself.

Out loud, he asked, "What is that?"

"I call it," the techy said excitedly, "the i-stake."

"That's catchy," Eric deadpanned.

Apparently proud of her creation, the young techy went on to gleefully describe the device that she was putting on him. Apparently, with one little click, a wooden tipped bullet would pierce his heart. Lovely.

He wondered if the little device could possibly pierce that organ any more than a certain fairy-human had already done. He doubted it.

The techy warned him that the harness would pinch a little but that he'd get used to it. "Kinky indeed," Eric thought.

"Just imagine it's a training bra," she said.

"It's been a long time since I wore one," Eric intoned.

Even as Bill looked at him with amusement, the techy secured a second one on him.

"How do you trigger these devices?" Bill asked.

"There's an app for that," the young vampire stated flatly.

"You're joking," Bill smiled. Eric didn't think she was.

"Nope," she confirmed. "So if you try to do something stupid like attack me or try and run away or whatever―click and _splat_."

"Efficient," Bill commented.

Eric agreed; he too had to admire the efficiency of the whole apparatus. Technology could be a wondrous thing, and the idea of having a life in his hands that just a touch of a button could end was a powerful thought indeed.

An _app_ that could end a thousand-year life—technology could be a bitch too.

Eric listened as the techy explained that trying to remove the harness would also lead to their certain deaths.

Of course.

She also explained the "safety features" of the harnesses. Apparently, they were indestructible: water-proof, fire-proof, and "yada, yada, yada"—whatever the hell that meant. They also contained "big brother-type" tracking devices.

Of course.

The techy finished her spiel with a warning, "Do yourselves a favor, and don't fuck around—okay? You guys are too cute to be goo."

Eric had a difficult time holding in his smirk. He liked her. Young ones tended to be annoying, but this one was amusing.

"Thanks," Eric deadpanned.

"We will try not to 'fuck around,'" Bill added.

"_Try_," Eric emphasized, this time his smirk coming out.

The techy rolled her eyes and put her phone in her pocket.

Eric looked over at Bill. "How precious. We match again."

"I would think you would be used to harnesses, Eric," Bill smirked.

"I _am_ used to putting others in them," Eric informed, winking at the techy.

"You two can put your shirts back on," she said with another roll of her eyes.

"So," Eric grinned, "does that app do anything else? Anything naughty?"

The techy chuckled. "Not yet."

"Then I shall compose a 'wish list,'" Eric winked again.

* * *

As soon as they were dressed, Bill and he were led down a corridor they'd never visited before. The guards with them opened two doors on opposite sides of the hall, which led to small rooms, both equipped with only a bed.

"Looks like we are moving up in the world," Bill remarked.

Eric nodded, "Indeed—from a cage to a box."

"Get in," one of the guards said as he pushed Eric into his new 'home' and slammed the door behind him.

Eric sat on the bed. "Well, at least it's _slightly_ more comfortable," he said to the wall as he kicked off his flip-flops and lay down.

It was still a while before dawn, so he stretched out into his bonds again.

Pam was irritated—cagey even. Eric wondered if this was because of his being gone, her confrontation with Sookie, or her new child. He sighed. Before he'd confronted Russell more than a year before, he'd told Pam that it was time for her to create a child of her own. He knew that she could be a great maker if she put her determination into being one. He hoped that—no matter whom she had turned—that she had committed herself to his or her training.

The thought of his line—of Godric's line—going on pleased him. Pam had his blood and his maker's blood inside of her. And Pam's child would have the blood of his or her forebears too. Yes—the thought that he would not die completely even if he met the true death was strangely comforting to Eric.

He reflected upon the events that had led to his creation of his own progeny. He'd liked the feisty madam, but he'd not intended to make her into a vampire. Pam had forced the issue by cutting open her veins. He'd thought about just leaving her to die, but there was something in her eyes that drew him to her.

Godric had given him permission to create his own children six hundred years earlier, but he'd never done so before. In the end, he was glad that he'd made Pam his child. He liked that she was still feisty, and she'd embraced her life as a vampire whole-heartedly; she'd certainly been an amusing companion over their many years together.

But he was still angry at her for her recent disobedience. He did not care to be questioned by his progeny when he gave her orders. And he knew that much of her recent behavior had stemmed from her jealousy of Sookie.

He'd been monitoring his bond with the blond telepath as well. Sookie was even more desperate now to find what she was looking for. She also felt tired—worn down. Ever since she'd walked away from him and Bill, she'd been a mix of overpowering emotions, and—at least during the nights since then—Eric had not felt her sleep yet. He'd not felt her rest at all.

Had they exchanged blood three times, he would have been able to transmit comfort to her through their bond. He would have been able to encourage her rest.

But he was powerless to give her any relief—utterly fucking powerless.

At dawn, he found himself fighting his own rest for a while, as he kept monitoring Sookie and hoping to feel her sink into the embrace of sleep as well.

She never did.

Two hours after the sun was in the sky, Eric finally allowed himself to succumb to death for the day. His last thought was that the harness that held a wooden bullet poised over his heart was _nothing_ next to the harness that held him to Sookie Stackhouse.

* * *

[_**A/N:**_ Thanks for continuing to read and review this story. I enjoy all your comments immensely—even when I'm not able to respond to them personally. I continue to have a lot of fun in the Viking's complicated brain and continue to come up with most of my material as I watch Alexander Skarsgard's eyes during his scenes. It's pretty amazing how "controlled" and "emotive" he is all at once—the _perfect_ Eric in my opinion.]


	11. Chapter 11: Sloppy Seconds

**Chapter 11: Sloppy Seconds**

Eric woke up to the same feeling that he had gone to death with: Sookie's restlessness. Moreover, to the agitation he'd felt from her this morning had been added dread. Eric concentrated on the woman whom he both loved and loathed to love. She was not in immediate _physical_ danger; of that he was certain.

That was of some comfort, but her depression still rocked him.

Eric understood _well_ that there were dangers of various kinds. He'd learned that lesson on a Dallas rooftop.

He sighed. He knew that if his bonded did not sleep—did not rest—soon, then her fractured emotions would shatter. Restless himself, he sat up in his bed—even as he wished that he were in a different bed, in a different place, and in a different time.

The bed in the cubby was about the size of the one he was sitting on now, though he'd made that one longer to accommodate his height. With disdain, he looked down at the end of the bed he was on. His feet had dangled off of it at least half a foot. The sight would have been comical to him if he weren't in such a clusterfuck.

He closed his eyes, speculating that it was only a matter of time before he would be led to a different bed, a much more luxurious one: Salome's.

Eric was no novice when it came to manipulation. His time on the Guardian's strings had been high theatre thus far, and he didn't expect that to change.

Act I had been Nan's death and the subsequent apprehension of his monarch and himself. He'd been merely a pawn in that act, not understanding yet that there was a bigger picture than just Bill and his elimination.

Act II had been his "interrogation"—his torture. Eric now realized that it had be designed to make him more _pliable_ and _ready_ to jump into whatever role the Guardian—or the one pulling _his_ strings—might have for him.

Nora's involvement had given Salome an excuse to raise the issue of the Sanguinistas, but Eric was quite certain that she would have—if need be—found another reason to bring it up. _Clearly_, Roman had been trying to confirm that neither Bill nor himself were involved in the group he was obviously threatened by.

Act III had obviously been originally scripted as a _chastisement_ scene for the benefit of the Chancellors of the Authority. Had Nora not unwittingly complicated things, Roman would have likely just berated Bill for not following the order to end his life. They would have been "read the riot act" for Nan's death as well. But Eric was convinced that the Chancellors on the "good" side of the table would have "swayed" Roman to spare his and Bill's lives. Of course, the Guardian would have certainly demanded "penance" from Bill and him.

Roman had clearly wanted their "cooperation" all along, and Eric was convinced that his and Bill's "atonement" for disobedience and for killing Nan would have fit into the grand scheme—or scene—of Roman's larger production.

Of course, there had been a need for improvisation during Act III. As soon as Nora's behavior screamed, "I'm a Sanguinista," and as soon as the name "Russell Edgington" had spilled from Bill's lips, Roman had been in scramble mode. He'd been trying to gauge Bill and Eric, attempting to confirm that they had nothing to do with the Sanguinistas. Ultimately, he must have been satisfied—or at least satisfied enough.

They were alive, after all.

And now Eric knew that it was time for Act IV: the seduction. He sighed, wondering how the fuck he was going to convincingly play his part.

He checked his bond with Sookie. She was still there and felt as she had before.

Eric closed his eyes and steeled himself. Having sex with Nora had been one thing. She was his vampire sister―after all―and they had centuries of affection and rivalry between them. Though ultimately unsatisfying, the sex had―at the very least―been _instructive_ for him. It had taught him that no one would be able to replace Sookie—_not ever_. It had taught him the futility of looking for that stand-in for his bonded one in the first place.

But it had _not_ been totally unpleasant either. He cared for Nora, and Nora cared for him, and after Sookie had rejected him, he fucking needed to be cared for!

So he'd taken steps to feel "better" with Nora. Just because it hadn't worked didn't mean that he shouldn't have tried.

But tonight would be different. He was almost certain that Roman would want to use his best _asset_ to the best of her ability. And if Salome was anything, it was a seductress extraordinaire. He figured that Roman would want her to use her considerable "gifts" to test his "commitment" to the cause, especially now that Russell was in the game.

And Eric knew that he would have to continue playing the role that had been set up for him. If he didn't, he would likely be dead before morning. No—like any actor finding himself in the middle of a scene, he would have to either perform as expected or get replaced by someone who would.

Eric lay back down to wait for his curtain time. He checked the bond and found that Sookie was not yet resting.

He sighed deeply as his feet hung over the edge of the bed.

* * *

Half an hour later, Eric was led into an opulent suite, complete with a seductress who was ready to play her role as well.

Eric was not going to lie to himself. Salome _was_ beautiful, and two years ago, he would have been extremely pleased to find himself in her private chambers with only a robe of the finest-quality silk separating him from her lush curves.

But it was _not_ two years ago, and he now longed for another set of curves altogether—a set he found infinitely more alluring because they belonged to the woman who stirred his soul in a lot more fucking ways than just with her body.

She spoke with her back still turned to him. "Sheriff Northman," she said smoothly as she arranged her hair. "Good evening."

As if he'd rehearsed them, Eric said the lines he figured would be expected at that moment. "Thank you, Chancellor, for your support at the hearing." Yes—Eric wanted for Salome to know that _he knew_ she was indeed on his and Bill's side. "We owe you our lives," Eric said, making sure that his voice held sincerity.

Eric held in his smirk. He didn't really believe that it was Salome whom he owed, but he wanted her to _think_ he felt that way. He might be an actor in a role that he didn't fully understand yet, but he was damned sure going to figure out the Guardian's endgame soon enough, and when he did, he figured that Salome might be useful, so he would pull _her_ strings for a while. Turnabout _was_ fair play―after all. And if he ultimately had to perform the role of the man-whore in this particular scene, he would _at least_ get something the fuck out of it! Frankly, he didn't think that the lackluster orgasm he expected would be worth it in and of itself.

Salome glanced at him over her shoulder. "Oh—you can stop _performing_."

Eric was momentarily taken aback. Could Salome be more of a master in this play than he'd realized?

She continued, "I have this room checked for bugs—_daily_." She gave him a sweet smile. "We can be ourselves here."

Eric was immediately relieved. Salome might be aware that he'd been "performing" for her, but she clearly had no idea what his true motives were. And as for the notion of "being himself" with her—well, there was only _one_ woman with whom he'd ever truly been himself, and look where the fuck _that_ had gotten him!

Still, he quickly checked his bond with said woman.

"Please—sit down," she offered, patting a space next to her.

For a moment, Eric felt like a lamb being led to slaughter; he was certain that Salome had led many, _many_ men to their deaths through seduction. The originators of the biblical depiction of her might have skewed the story in order to paint Salome as the symbol of female seductiveness and danger for their own misogynistic and political purposes. However, Eric knew that the vampiress in front of him was indeed _very_ dangerous. And clearly, she was trying to seduce him.

He walked over to her, ready to be seduced. She poured him a warmed glass of blood—A-negative. It wasn't his favorite, but he'd not eaten since Sookie, so it was welcome nonetheless. Eric waited for her to speak. He knew that she needed to believe that she was the lead actor in this particular scene, and he was happy to let her believe it.

"You surprise me," Salome said flirtingly. "And that doesn't happen very often. I expected you to at least _try_ and save her."

Ah—now Eric knew what Salome's tactic would be. She would once again try to use the mention of Nora to gauge whether he was her confederate with the Sanguinistas. Perhaps, they were still trying to get the truth from Nora too. He spared the briefest of moments to feel bad about his sister's situation.

He also knew that he would have to continue showing his emotion and care for her; it was part of the role he'd already determined for himself.

"Who?" he played dumb.

"Your sister," Salome said―as if it were a complete revelation to him that she would know of that.

Purposefully, Eric gave Salome a flash of surprise. He had suspected that she knew of his and Nora's relationship for a while—even _hoped_ for it. It gave Nora a good reason to have been helping Bill and him _without_ it being related to the Sanguinistas. It gave them cover.

"Don't worry," Salome said conspiratorially, "your secret is safe. Even Nora has no idea I know."

"How?" Eric asked, happy to keep most of his sentences to one-word questions.

"Godric," Salome said with light in her eyes.

Eric knew that Salome's mention of his maker was designed to do one thing and one thing only: Get Eric "off his game"—so to speak. She was looking for and then poking at any vulnerability she suspected he had. In truth, he _was_ still crushed by the death of his maker, especially considering that Godric had _chosen_ to leave. But he wasn't about to let Salome use Godric against him.

No—just as with Nora before, Eric was determined to show Salome _only_ what he _wanted_ her to see. He would make her think she was getting to him, but _he_ would be the one in control by the end of the scene.

"Oh," Salome said with reverence in her voice, "he was _glorious_!" She sighed. "Before he lost his way."

Well—at least Eric could fucking agree with that.

The seductress then brought out the "big guns" to get a rise out of him.

"He loved you the most," she said as if she'd had some kind of blueprint into the inner workings of his maker. He knew that she didn't, but she _was_ a very good actress. "And now I see why," she added with a smile.

Eric let Salome see his apparent discomfort in the topic and waited for her to go on.

"So Nora risked _everything_ for you. And you're willing to let us execute her for it?" she asked.

"What choice do I have?" Eric asked. Clearly Salome was about to give him one.

"There are _always_ choices," she assured. "Godric gave you one while you bled out on that pyre: Be his companion or die?"

Okay—Eric was a little pissed off that Salome was continuing to use Godric; it was time for him to take the strings for a while.

"Are you lonely?" he asked her. "Is _this_ how you make friends?" he continued, allowing his voice to show a bit of defensiveness that he did not feel. He also brought back the sarcastic edge.

That pushed her buttons—just as he'd intended.

In truth, Eric was fucking tired of the scene he found himself in. He wanted to hurry it along, especially since he had no doubt about how it was due to end. The character that he was playing would be required to fuck the character that she was playing. And he was ready for the fuck to be over with so that the next damned act could begin!

Salome got up in a bit of a huff and turned her back on him again. Eric knew that she was trying to regain her cool.

"Friends you can trust," she began sharply before her voice smoothed out. "A rare commodity." She turned back to face him. "I sponsored Nora's Chancellorship. Did you know that?"

Eric gave her a little half-smirk, half-smile as he tried to look interested. It looked like Salome was going to go back to the topic of Nora again. It was fucking predictable.

"I mentored her," Salome said, her frustration clear.

Eric got an idea. If Salome could use Nora, then so could he. "So her betrayal makes you look _particularly_ bad."

From the look in her eyes, Eric knew that she was on _his_ strings now.

She walked back toward him shaking her head a little. Of course, her hips shook too. It seemed that her fallback position was the seductress.

"You're cold," she said with false hurt in her eyes.

She had no fucking clue how fucking cold he could be. But—if he had his way—one day, she _would_ find out.

"It is because you've been hurt," she said as if she knew him, "and that wound is still fresh."

He looked at her with a bit of surprise. She was right, of course, but she had no idea how he'd been hurt or who had hurt him. She likely thought it was Nora.

No—Salome had no fucking clue that it was a telepathic human-fairy hybrid that was pulling at him through their fledgling bond even then. Talk about a puppet on fucking strings!

Eric was happy to let Salome _think_ that it was Nora or even Godric that was hurting him so much. It was useful that she _already_ did.

He looked away and took his first drink of his blood. It was indeed quite tasty. "I heal quickly," he said casually as he continued to play his part well.

Salome rose—_finally_—moving toward the bed and loosening her robe in the process. "Perhaps I can help you speed that along."

She _was_ lovely, Eric had to admit. But there was nothing in the fucking universe that would "speed along" the process of his healing short of his bonded telling him that her rejection of him had been the _biggest fucking mistake_ of her fucking life. Yes—that would just about do it.

Eric looked up at Salome, already knowing the answer to the question he was about to ask. He asked it anyway. "What do you want from me?"

"You know what I want," she said as she exposed her beautiful breasts to his gaze. They _were_ glorious—maybe even the _second_ best pair he'd ever seen. But they were in a _distant_ second.

"I want to be your friend," she said with some insistence in her voice. Clearly the scene hadn't gone exactly as she'd wanted it to, but she was still powering on to the end. She knew what Roman expected of her, and she _was_ a good actress—even though her eyes didn't quite convince Eric that she enjoyed the part.

She lay down on the bed alluringly. Her position was _practiced_ and showed her body to greatest effect. Yes—she was a _very_ good actress.

"But it is what _you_ want that intrigues me," she said seductively.

Giving nothing away, Eric kept his eyes locked into hers. He needed to look like he _wanted_ her, so he did. He needed to look like he _needed_ her, so he did.

He needed to _perform_, do he did. And he was a good actor—_better_ than the vampiress in his hands.

In fact, he _performed_ until she was screaming his name and Lilith's name and until she was _no longer_ performing as she did it.

And _that_ was the moment when Eric began to suspect something about Salome. Yes—Nora might very well be a Sanguinista, but the woman he was pounding into was also an excellent candidate for one as well.

Eric couldn't help but to wonder if his and Bill's purpose for being on Roman's strings was to help him discover Salome's true loyalty. Or—perhaps—Roman didn't suspect her at all.

Eric thrust upward and down in a blur of movement, knowing that he was hitting Salome's "sweet spot" again and again. She once more cried out his name in her ecstasy.

Yes—as Pam always said—he _did_ know how to pull "good string."

And as for his own enjoyment? Well—at least the goddamned bed was long enough.

* * *

An hour and three good scrubs later—again in the ridiculously small shower—Eric was led to a room where Bill was waiting. Immediately thereafter, all but one of their guards disappeared. The last of them led them to an elevator and pushed a button before gesturing for them to get inside.

Eric stepped into the little box even as he received a particularly nervous and then guilty feeling from Sookie. She was on edge, and all Eric could do was ride out the wave of her feelings just as he was about to ride in the fucking elevator. For _neither_ one was he certain about his destination.

Once they were inside, the guard press another button, but didn't join them. As Eric felt the box moving, he commented to Bill, "So I had a visit this evening," he paused, "from a certain—um—Chancellor."

"Interesting," Bill said with a little smirk.

Realization hit Eric. "What you _too_?" he asked. He should have known that Salome would be "thorough."

Bill looked down, trying to conceal his smile. Eric still saw it. "You know what they say about gentlemen," he began. "They don't brag about _sloppy seconds_." The amusement was clear on the monarch's face now.

"Ahh," Eric sounded as if frustrated. He was content to let Bill get "one up" on him this time. After all, Eric had merely been performing with Salome, and though he'd had to "perform" well, he had needed a thousand years of practicing his control to "get it up" and "keep it up"—so to speak. Salome was beautiful and alluring and seductive.

However, she was _not_ whom Eric had wanted.

And unlike with Nora, he'd had to "finish" the job; there had been no handy phone call to get him out of it. Luckily, Salome was not a telepath, or she would have known that he was fantasizing about a real telepath as he "completed" his scene.

Bill looked just as self-satisfied as Eric had intended.

"What the hell does she want from us?" Eric asked, knowing that "big brother" was most _certainly_ listening to their conversation. His thousand-year-old ears heard the buzz of the high-frequency bugs, after all.

Bill shook his head and spoke honestly, "I have no idea, but something tells me that she _usually_ gets what she wants."

Eric figured that was true, but, unlike Bill, he _did_ have an idea of what Roman—or his own puppeteer―might want.

The elevator doors opened to a slew of storm troopers.

"Oh goody," Eric intoned. "It looks like we didn't lose our escort, after all."

"Happy day," Bill deadpanned.

As Bill and he followed the lead of their chaperons, Eric got another strong surge from Sookie. She was feeling an intense amount of guilt and pain—a profundity of suffering.

He knew that he would soon be in her radius again—that he'd once again be closer to her when he returned to Shreveport, which he was certain he would be doing before the night was over.

However, he also knew that as much as he wanted to go to her—to see her—to make sure that she was okay, he also did _not_ want to go to her. He and Bill were being tracked, and he didn't like the thought of Sookie being anywhere near him while the Authority was "watching." He wondered if Bill would have the same thought.

He glanced over at his friend, whose face once more held a little smirk. Eric sighed. Even though he wasn't really upset about Salome, he was _too damned old_ to be someone's "sloppy seconds."

Of course, he'd also been Sookie's second partner, but that wasn't the same kind of situation. No—with Sookie it had been even "_sloppier_," but not in the conventional sense of the insulting phrase.

No, her continued love for Bill had _truly_ upset him. Despite the fact that he could now appreciate the vampire walking by his side and no longer wanted to tear his throat out at every turn, Eric still hated the fact that the woman he loved also loved Bill. However, that wasn't really _Bill's_ fault.

Yeah—there had been the blood that the Civil War veteran had given to Sookie, but that wasn't _really_ dictating her actions, and Eric knew it.

He could fucking feel it like a vice pulling at him through their bond.

She was scared. Her first relationship—her first _everything_—had been born of and based around a deception. Eric couldn't blame her for fearing that her second relationship would turn out just as _sloppily_.

Eric sighed. Sookie's life—from what he had intuited—had been a collection of episodes that had caused her mostly pain. In the cubby as he'd lain under silver, she'd told him snippets of the way that hearing everyone's thoughts had hurt her over the years. It seemed that even the people she loved—people he'd seen her willing to die for like her worthless fucking brother—had thoughts that had made her suffer or feel guilt. As Sheriff of Area 5, Eric had judged Sookie's telepathy as an asset, but _she_ had been cursed by it. It had been the silver chain holding her down for her whole life, and she'd suffered from it a great deal more than any silver had ever hurt him.

He'd wanted to change that for her—to take that suffering away. After he'd regained his memories, it was _that_, which he had offered to her.

But how could she—in reference to _everything_ else that had happened in her life—trust him?

_Yes_. He'd been hurt by her rejection—annihilated actually. But what hurt him more _now_ was the realization that she was likely justified in her rejection. Oh—she was _wrong_ about him! Dead fucking wrong! But she was still justified.

After all, how could she trust Eric's heart when she _so clearly_ didn't yet trust her own?

With amnesia, he'd been "safer" to trust. _That_ Eric had nothing to conceal because he remembered _nothing_. He had no motives or agendas that he could be hiding. There were no plots from queens being concealed because he remembered no one whose orders he could have been following.

As soon as his memory had been restored, all of the danger he posed to her—_especially_ of the emotional variety—had also been restored. Again—how could she trust him not to further damage the heart that she'd given so freely to Bill?

It was no wonder that she'd held it back and run out of Bill's mansion. No fucking wonder at all.

How could she trust him to say what he meant when she couldn't hear him? She'd made that mistake before—with Bill.

So the telepathy that had always caused her pain suddenly reared its ugly head again—this time because she _couldn't_ use it with vampires.

Eric felt Sookie's crushed spirit through their bond, and the weight of it made him understand _everything_ he needed to understand about Sookie's rejection of him. Of course, that understanding only made the rejection that much more painful to bear.

He recalled the night that they'd lain together in her bed after they'd made love for the first time—the first _four_ times, actually, if he was counting his own orgasms. Seven—if he was counting hers.

He sighed. He had asked her if she would still want to be with him after he got his memories back. What he was _really_ asking was if she would still love him.

She'd suddenly become uncertain in that moment. She'd stammered out that she didn't know. She'd told him that she would've never accepted "the old him" into her bed. She'd told him that she "_hoped"_ that she would still want him. She'd confessed that she knew that the day he would regain his memories was coming and that she wanted to keep feeling the way she was feeling then. Her eyes had filled with tears as she'd told him how _badly_ she wanted to keep feeling that way.

He'd wanted it badly too. He wanted it _even more_ now.

But even then—even without his experiences to help him to read her—Eric had known that Sookie doubted him because she doubted herself. She doubted whether he would be capable of _truly_ loving her because she had never been gifted with romantic love that had been _true_ and _real_. How could she _not_ doubt him? Even with the bond they'd made the next night, how could she trust herself _or_ him?

After, they'd bonded, Eric had told her the truth: That he simply wanted to be with her—only her—_forever_.

And she answered with words that had—even then—indicated the state of the destruction within her heart. She'd said, "There's no such thing as forever." And her eyes had betrayed the fact that she felt that there was no such thing as forever _for her_. Everything in her life up until that moment—_especially_ her Gran's death and Bill's forced betrayal of her—had taught her that her words were true.

They were _not_ true when it came to his love for her, but how could he possibly make her believe him?

Yes—seconds could be extremely _sloppy_ indeed.

* * *

[_**A/N: **_Hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I probably won't get to update for a few days—Monday and Tuesday will be killers—but I have some good ideas for the next scenes. Thanks so much for continuing to read and I appreciate all of you who are commenting/reviewing. Your words are keeping me excited about this little project of mine.

Also, remember that I am only editing this once, so forgive the typos.

Finally, please remember that although I am using the dialogue from the show liberally, I do not own it in any way. I am responsible only for my additions, and I'm getting-as I said before-a huge assist from Alexander Skarsgard. His acting this season has been the highlight of the show for me. (Along with is abs. And his bottom. And eyes.) Okay, I will stop objectifying the poor man now!]


	12. Chapter 12: Abandoned

[_**A/N:**_ Hello! _Inner_ is back! And I hope that I will not be leaving it again anytime soon. (My goal is 4 chapters a month, hopefully more.) For those of you who followed my previous story, _Come Back to Me_, you know that I took a hiatus from this one to finish that one.

_**Reminder:**_ This story is my interpretation of what is going on in Eric's head throughout Season 5. I had wanted to write this story even as the season played out, mad-libbing my way from week to week and dealing with whatever plot craziness was thrown at me. Sadly, a wonderful promotion at work took so much of my time that I had to put this story to the side; however, I did outline my ideas after each episode, and I will be using that outline to construct the rest of this story. As for now, this story is going to stay from Eric's perspective only, sometimes told in third person POV and sometimes in first person POV. Basically, I will continue to take the scenes with Eric in them and use them as the basis to construct the inner monologue of our favorite Viking.

_**Rules reminder:**_ I cannot change what happens in a scene (no matter how much I might want to). I can, however, add to a scene or provide a "deleted scene," which is what the beginning of this chapter does. But it has to "work" with the story that A.B. created. I am also working under the assumption that Eric's mind functions quickly, and his thoughts may "ramble" a bit as I rove around in his head. Since it has been a while since I posted (and since many of you have seen the episodes), I will remind you of the context and sometimes give you an insight into what Sookie's doing before each chapter. Also, if you want to follow this story on my WordPress Site, I will be adding pictures from the scenes I work with in order to augment the experience and refresh the memory. Here is my WordPess (take out the spaces): californiakat1564 . wordpress . com

_**Context:**_ This scene occurs during Episode 4 of Season 5. Sookie has just told Alcide that she killed Debbie, and Alcide has angrily driven away. Lafayette finds Sookie in tears and confronts her, calling her the "angel of death." Meanwhile, Eric and Bill have been "released" by Roman and the Authority so that they can find Russell. This scene picks up ten minutes before Eric and Bill are dropped off near Shreveport.]

* * *

**Chapter 12: Abandoned**

From the moment Herveaux had told Eric that Russell had been broken out of his concrete prison, a significant part of the Viking's mind had been working to answer a simple question: _Who_?

Who had freed Russell? He had been buried under too much cement to burrow out of his tomb himself. Not even a hundred years of slow movements would have gotten him free—despite his age and power.

Eric went to the most obvious thought first.

Did Russell have children that Eric didn't know about? He had to admit that it was possible—though not probable.

Eric had checked and then rechecked Russell's lineage after the cement was laid in place, and there were no children that Eric hadn't accounted for.

Unlike most vampires, Russell had always been a boaster. He'd boasted about his wealth. He'd boasted about his collections. And he'd boasted about his children.

According to Godric, who had heard stories told of Russell for longer than Eric had been undead, the three-thousand-year-old had always made the same kind of child—over and over again. He made consorts—companions like Talbot. Moreover, it was common knowledge that he kept only one child at a time, killing the others in Darwinian fashion when he lost interest in them.

Indeed—until Talbot—their fates had always been the same. Some of the older monarchs in Europe even made bets on how long Russell's latest child would last. And Russell's practice was not kept from his children either; in fact, in his arrogance, Russell made clear to each new child that he was in a fight for his very life. In that way—at least—Russell had been fair and honest. Each child thinking that he would be the one to finally keep his master's interest, none of them had ever challenged the ancient vampire.

Of course, they wouldn't have been able to even if they had wanted to. Russell was no simpleton; he used a maker's command to ensure his children couldn't do anything that could harm him. Not surprisingly, that mandate was one-sided. Russell seemed to have no problem "harming" one of his children when a new human lover intrigued him more than his latest child. The ancient vampire's practice was frowned upon by the Authority; however, it had been tolerated because of his age.

Talbot had been the wisest among all of Russell's consorts/children. He had embraced the lavish lifestyle that Russell had offered him. However, his greatest gift turned out to be his craftiness in dealing with the humans that might have been good candidates for Russell's next child. He had encouraged Russell's access to any and all human lovers and blood donors the elder vampire desired, even procuring those with the best quality blood and experimenting with their diets to make their "flavors" better. But—most importantly—he'd never shown jealousy when Russell took a new lover. Talbot's smartest move had been in keeping the "buffet" ever-changing and "fresh" so that Russell would never get too attached to anyone new.

It had been clear to Eric―after only a few minutes of being in the couple's presence―that Russell was happy to indulge and spoil Talbot, while Talbot was happy to flatter and adore his maker.

What the elder vampire would _not_ tolerate was anyone questioning his "divine" right to whatever the hell he wanted. Despite Russell's apparent affection for Talbot, the younger vampire had obviously begun to "forget" that he shouldn't push his maker too far. Eric had seen Talbot question Russell concerning his decisions regarding both Sookie and Sophie-Anne, and the Viking had little doubt that the three-thousand-year-old vampire would have likely begun to "window shop" for a new child in the next decade or so if Talbot had continued in the same vein.

So the day Russell went into the cement, Eric had been fairly certain that no other child existed, but the Viking had also been wise enough to be wary. He knew that it had been a possibility that Russell had made a new child between the time of Talbot's death and his own burial in the concrete. That's why Eric had rigged surveillance so that he could watch Russell's burial place. That surveillance feed was going to be the first thing that Eric checked when he got back to Fangtasia.

Eric had been wise to install the equipment. Two nights after Russell had been buried—two nights after Sookie had disappeared—a newly-turned vampire, not even a week old, came to the construction site and triggered the alarm system Eric had set up. While questioning the youngling―who was feral, completely untrained, and covered in dirt and dried blood—Eric confirmed that he was indeed Russell's child. Eric found out that, in his insanity, Russell had ordered the young one, who looked very much like Talbot, to answer only to that name as well. Eric disposed of the pitiful vampire, who was being driven mad by Russell's persistent summoning.

After that, Eric had continued to surveil the construction site, and he'd done even more research on Russell's line. He'd painstakingly gone through every piece of paper he'd found when cleaning out Russell's Mississippi mansion and had discovered no evidence of any living children. He'd also unearthed a secret room in the mansion—a reliquary of sorts—where Russell had kept souvenirs and lovingly written biographies of each of the children he had made and then killed, going back for more than 2,800 years. After reading the books, Eric had understood that all of Russell's consorts had simply been a part of the ancient vampire's collection.

However, Eric―better than anyone―knew of Russell's ability to hide the truth about himself. He'd concealed his association with the tattooed Werewolves for a millennium. So he could have concealed the existence of other children. Thus, Eric had kept his surveillance equipment in place and well-maintained. And he had told no one about it.

Eric couldn't help but to smile a little as he thought about his time ransacking Russell's mansion. It had reminded him of his days as a Viking raider. Eric had never raped women as some historians insinuated "all" Vikings did. He'd never had to; plus, his mother would have come back from the dead to kill him if he had behaved that way. However, Eric _had_ pillaged with the best of them, and there was nothing that he'd enjoyed more than to sack the village of one of his enemies. Thus, he'd taken great, _great_ pleasure in selling Russell's artifacts to museums and private collectors. In fact, he had piles of money concealed behind a cement wall in Fangtasia's basement to prove it.

So—despite Russell's age—Eric was convinced that the elder vampire had no remaining children whom he could have called to rescue him. And even if anyone else had come, Eric would have known of it—until his amnesia, that is. Eric kept his monitoring equipment in a safe room under Fangtasia that even Pam didn't know about. And he'd not been to Fangtasia since the night Bill had summoned him to check out Marnie's coven—almost two weeks before.

Eric just hoped that the person who had freed Russell was sloppy enough to let himself or herself be captured on film.

He sighed. There was an inevitable truth to be faced. If Russell had no unaccounted-for children, only four beings knew where the ancient vampire had been encased: Bill, Pam, Alcide, and himself.

Eric had not told a fucking soul about Russell being alive and encased in cement. And—for the "undeath" of him—the Viking couldn't imagine any of the other three saying a word about it to anyone either. But, if the surveillance equipment yielded no leads, he intended to confirm that before he moved on to consider other possibilities.

Tabling those thoughts for a while, Eric closed his eyes and let himself sink into his bond with Sookie. He sighed. He had begun to see the bond's presence inside of him as a comfort. Yet—at the same time—it was a torment, for he could do nothing to comfort her. She had been in a state of turmoil all night, and in that moment, it felt like she was shattering because of guilt and shame. The vampire couldn't help but to wonder what had happened to cause her such profound distress.

Eric gasped aloud as the vehicle came to a sudden stop at a stop sign. However, his gasp was not caused by the jarring of the vehicle, but because of a particularly strong jar of emotion that had hit his bonded one. Eric felt as if he'd been hit by something too—a wave of desolation that would have made him stagger if he'd been on his feet. Luckily, the sway of the braking vehicle helped to cover his reaction to Sookie's feelings.

Bill gave him an inquisitive look. "Everything okay?"

Eric was currently not in the mood to foster his new "bromance," especially not when he was trying to deal with Sookie's emotions.

The Viking scoffed in order to cover his pain, "Nothing that driving lessons for Tweedle Dumbass up there wouldn't solve."

Bill snickered. "I have ridden with you, Eric. You have no room to criticize driving that is," he paused, "somewhat hurried."

Eric managed an authentic-sounding chuckle, even as he steadied himself against another blast of desolation from Sookie. He used his thousand years of hiding himself from others to conceal his emotions from Bill, even as he closed his eyes and turned his body a bit so that his ex-monarch wouldn't be able to see his face—just in case it became impossible for him to cover his reactions to Sookie's swirling and dense emotions.

Eric opened his eyes and looked at the palm of his hand—the same palm that Sookie had fed from. There was no scar there, no physical evidence that she had taken his blood. But he stared anyway.

She had offered to feed him—to heal him—after he'd been kept under silver all day due to the threat from Marnie/Antonia. Eric would never forget the taste of her blood that day, and now that he had his memories back, that taste was made all the more striking and meaningful.

He'd tasted her blood three times now. The first time—when he'd taken it with Russell—_should_ have been the best time for him. Everything he had learned during his vampire life told him that it should have been, but it wasn't.

Human blood was always laced with the emotions the humans were feeling; that was why vampires enjoyed feeding from humans during sex. But—even better—was the taste of them when they were afraid. Though Eric had not killed a human for food in a long time—centuries before the great reveal—he had to admit that he'd often "played" with his food. Perhaps that made him no better than a Sanguinista, but—then again—Eric didn't damage the humans permanently, nor did he keep them under his thrall. He would rev up their emotions—either through seduction or a nice chase—and then feed from them. He would never mix the two; that always seemed too close to rape to Eric. And—after he was done with them—he would always use glamour to cover his tracks and to give the humans a nice memory.

Ever since he was a fledgling vampire, Eric had preferred blood from those who held fear for him—fear of the monster in the dark. But when he drank from Sookie the first time, her fear cut through him like a stake to his heart. Sookie's blood had been delicious; as cliché as it might have sounded, her blood really was like sunshine to his dark life. It was the best taste he had ever experienced up to that point—the last meal of a dying man—but he'd not enjoyed drinking from her.

The second time he'd tasted her blood—not half an hour later—the experience had been infinitely better. Paradoxically, her blood had "tasted" worse. Bill had obviously just given her his blood to help her replenish after Eric and Russell's feeding, which affected the flavor.

Russell had taken more from Sookie than Eric had hoped he would, but the Viking knew that she would live. Bill's donation had been ultimately unnecessary and probably self-serving. After all, she had been ready to accept Bill back into her life that very night, most likely due to having been fed Bill's blood earlier that day.

However, Eric had stopped Sookie from doing that by showing up at her doorstep and telling her the truth about Bill's service to the queen. Eric had had a variety of reasons for informing Sookie of Bill's duplicity, many of them selfish. He wanted Sookie for himself; thus, he was happy to see a wedge driven between her and the Civil War veteran. Plus, Bill had pissed him off when he'd tried to kill him. A little revenge never hurt, and he'd greatly enjoyed watching Bill get pulled out of Sookie's home. He'd had to work hard to stifle his laughter when Bill landed on his ass after trying to influence Sookie with shitty platitudes, while trying to cover up his even shittier actions. Yes. Bromance or not, Eric was still amused when he recalled the stricken look on Bill's face.

But he was not amused when he remembered the hurt that had dwelt upon Sookie's face that night. That was the look that stayed with him for a year as he waited for her to come back.

He had other motives—more honorable ones—for telling Sookie as well. She'd saved his life twice that day. He'd owed her, and he was being sincere when he said that she had the right to know about Bill's lies. Hell—he'd been ready to tell her in his office after that earth-shattering kiss they'd shared, but Pam had interrupted him.

Yes—the second time he'd taken her blood had been better, despite the fact that it had tasted like Bill. It had also been laced with determination, which was not an emotion that was known for improving the taste of human blood. However, it had tasted extremely sweet to Eric. Sookie's determination was focused on saving his life. She'd cared about him—against all logic or odds. She'd been concerned for him and didn't want him to die.

The third time he'd tasted her blood had been beyond the scope of words. Even now, when he considered all the languages that he knew and all the experiences that he'd had, there were no words or analogies for the way her blood had tasted and made him feel that evening in the cubby.

At the time, he could remember very little to compare her taste to. He had tasted only TruBlood and the full-blooded fairy. The TruBlood might as well not even have had a taste. He imagined that humans would compare it to eating cardboard. The fairy had been another story. Her blood had been exquisite, and her fear as he'd drunk from her had made it even better. He wouldn't have been able to imagine a better taste—until he drank from Sookie.

Her blood was every hope and dream that he'd ever had—that he'd ever suppressed—in his long life, and none of that had anything to do with the way she tasted. Even memory-less, he'd perceived the profundity of the moment when he'd taken her blood.

He'd not intended to pierce his palm and to give Sookie his blood. Even the amnesiac Eric intuited that the blood was not to be given away without good reason. But once he had tasted Sookie, all reasons for not offering her his blood in exchange for hers were ripped out of him. His mind had felt sharp in that moment—certain.

Her blood had not been tinged with fear or with passion—or with any other flavor that vampires coveted, for that matter. It had been laced with an emotion that Eric hadn't quite been able to identify then. But he knew with certainty what it was now: love. And what's more, he had been able to taste the traces of his own blood in her—traces that had been holding on inside of her since Dallas. They were like a taste of who he had been—someone whom he still couldn't remember but had caught a glimpse of in a shadow. But those traces had been enough to tell him all he needed to know in that moment: he loved her too.

"Both" Erics had pulled away from Sookie's delicious blood before "they'd" needed to—before "they'd" drunk even half of what Sookie could safely give. But "they'd" had more important things to do. "They" had ripped into the same palm he was looking at now. "They" had offered "themselves" to her.

"We will be one," "they'd" said to her.

Eric fisted his hand and remembered the first moment he saw Sookie Stackhouse. No—not when she had walked into Fangtasia, not when he had been hiding behind his thousand-year-old mask. He had been lost to himself in a different way when he "first" saw her for the second time. He'd told Bill that he'd been "born" the night Sookie had found him. That statement was still true—in so many ways.

Eric had felt alone and lost on that country road in the middle of the night. He'd felt abandoned, unable to remember a fucking thing. And then Sookie had suddenly come out of the night.

He had chased her. She'd been frightened at first. Yet he had not drunk from her, despite all of his instincts telling him to drain her—except his most important instinct. He had somehow known that her _fear_ was not something he wanted to taste.

Never again.

Eric knew a lot about witches and their curses. Their spells were often aimed at preying upon their victims' deepest fears. Indeed, his memories being stripped by Marnie/Antonia's curse had touched his own deep-seated personal fear: losing control, losing himself.

But in losing himself, he had found exactly who he wished he could be.

He had been alone on the road—lost and abandoned. She had put aside her fear and had taken him in. After that, every time she'd left him in the cubby to go do "human stuff," he'd felt the tingling of his fear returning. He didn't like being alone, and his amnesic self didn't know how to hide or deal with that fact.

In truth, the Viking had combatted that feeling for years, ever since his human family died and then again when Godric released him. Eric had embraced a solitary existence after that—at least in part to prove to himself that he could overcome his fear. He'd always been one to defy his fears.

He'd not even made a child until Pam came into his life, despite the fact that Godric had given him his blessing to do so when he was a couple of centuries old. Moreover, making Pam was unplanned, though ultimately not unwelcome. It gave him a convenient excuse to have a companion, and that had taken the edge off of his loneliness.

Eric closed his eyes and opened his fist before closing it again. The vision he'd had—the "nightmare"—of Godric and him feeding off of Sookie as she'd slept had shaken him. Fear did not belong in her blood, but in that vision, it had been there. After he'd "awoken," he'd gone to her, aching not to be alone and wanting to make sure that she was okay. She had let him stay in her bed; she'd comforted him. She'd held his hand—the same one he'd later offered her in the cubby.

"We will be one," he'd said to her right before they'd bonded. Those words had meant so much to him. They'd meant that he would never be alone again.

"We will be one." The words had also been for her. In the cubby that day, he had learned of her losses. He had learned of the isolation that her telepathy had forced her to endure.

"We will be one," was a promise that he would never leave her alone.

But he had. For reasons both in and out of his control, he had.

And now, as her emotions flooded him, she felt so alone—as if she had nothing to hold to and no one to love her through whatever storm had just picked her up into its grasp. He'd never felt such agony from her before, even when he'd felt her pain from being shot. He'd been under Marnie's thrall at the time, but he'd still felt it. And he'd been powerless to move.

What he was feeling from her now was worse than physical pain. The only word that came close to describing what was coming through their bond was _abandonment_.

His greatest fear.

And her greatest fear.

"We will be one," played over and over in his mind like a drum beat.

He closed his hand into a fist again.

Abandonment. He'd felt it the moment Godric had died the true death. But he'd had Pam, whom he _could_ have asked to be his crutch. Hell—Sookie would have likely even tried to comfort him if he'd sought her out. But he'd ignored his feeling of desolation over losing his maker. He'd turned his back on it as if he could outrun a tidal wave. He'd been a fool.

Abandonment. For some reason, Sookie felt like she had no one to turn to. No—that wasn't quite right. She felt like she didn't deserve having anyone to turn to.

Eric opened and closed his fist a few more times as if it were the beating of a heart. He had been ready to abandon Sookie too because she'd hurt him so much—because she'd rejected him.

Eric felt his own shame, and he vowed that he would never abandon her—_never_. Hell itself could try to take him away from her, but he would not leave her alone to face the world. Even if she didn't want him to be there, he would make damned sure that she knew he was near. He would happily endure the pain of her rejecting him ten thousand more times, but he never wanted to feel her despair like this again.

"We will be one," echoed again in his mind. "Please hang on until I am with you again," he said silently, even though he knew that she wouldn't be able to hear or feel his words.

Eric closed his hand back into a fist as the vehicle came to a sudden stop. He was resolved. He would get to Sookie as soon as he could. Meanwhile, he had to focus on living through the fucking night, protecting her from Russell Edgington, and making sure the Authority didn't learn about her existence.

Eric steadied his emotions and set the feelings he was still getting from Sookie to the side of his mind; however, he refused to shut off the bond that they shared. It had been open since Herveaux had told him about Russell, and it would stay open until Eric met his final death. He would not leave her alone, even if she had no idea he was there.

By the time one of their escorts got out to unlock and then open the back of the vehicle, Eric was completely composed.

Bill jumped out of the vehicle first, and then Eric moved his lanky body out of the cramped space.

From what Eric could tell based on his bonds, he was fifteen miles from Pam and about forty miles from Sookie.

"Don't fuck it up, gentleman," their escort said before throwing a set of keys down onto the ground, getting back into the vehicle, and quickly driving away.

Eric looked at Bill to see if he would take the lead. The Viking calculated that it would be best if he did. As much as he might "like" Bill in a way, he was now officially one-third of his suspect pool. If he let Bill think he was still the "king" and in the lead, then the younger vampire would be easier to observe.

Bill picked up the keys.

Eric looked down at his i-stake. "Well apart from these," he intoned, "your escape ploy worked brilliantly." He'd used the word, "your," deliberately, dropping a piece of bait for the younger vampire.

Bill bit. "I'm a bit surprised myself," he said, ready to take credit for the whole plan to use Russell as an escape device.

Eric sighed. Bill did still have some "douchery" about him. And Eric was reminded just how young his ex-king was. And that made him pliable. No. Eric was not quite ready to trust Bill Compton.

Eric looked around to assess their surroundings.

"We don't have many suspects for who might have broken Russell out," Bill said even as he cast something of a suspicious glance in Eric's direction.

Yes—there were still moments when Eric really did want to kick Bill's ass. Of course, Eric couldn't blame Bill for his suspicions. After all, turnabout was fair play, and he sure as hell suspected the vampire in front of him of leaking the information about Russell's whereabouts—even if it was an inadvertent slip-up. He'd be an idiot not to, after all.

"Only four of us knew where he was," Eric said. Douchebag or not, Bill deserved to be on the same page as he was. Plus, the Viking wanted to gauge his companion's reaction to the confirmation that only four knew of Russell's location. He studied Bill's eyes as the younger vampire went over who those four were. The Civil War veteran betrayed nothing suspicious.

Seemingly satisfied by what he saw in Eric's expression as well, Bill held up the key, pushed the alarm button, and located their car.

"I'll drive," Bill said in the 'I'm the king' tone he'd developed over the past year.

Indeed, Bill was a douche sometimes, but Eric was almost positive that he'd not been stupid enough to reveal Russell's location to anyone. The danger Russell posed to Sookie would have stopped him.

And that left two suspects. He aimed to eliminate Pam as one first.

However, to be absolutely certain, he would have to hurt her in the worst way he knew how. He would have to make her feel the same way he'd felt during his lowest moments, the same way that Sookie felt even now: abandoned.

* * *

[**_A/N #2:_** I hope that you enjoyed this! Comment/review if you get a chance. I hope there is still interest in this story.]


	13. Chapter 13: Man in Black

[_**A/N:**_ Please forgive any errors that you see in proofreading and editing. Remember that I'm trying to produce this story faster than my others, and I'm posting as I go, which means that some things will slip by.]

* * *

_**Context**_: Devastated by Lafayette's words and her own guilt, Sookie has gone to Jason's house to confess and to turn herself in. Meanwhile, Eric and Bill have made their way back to Fangtasia. Following is a "deleted scene," leading up to Eric's confrontation with Pam.

* * *

**Chapter 13: Man in Black**

Well, you wonder why I always dress in black,

Why you never see bright colors on my back,

And why does my appearance seem to have a somber tone.

Well, there's a reason for the things that I have on.

_from "Man in Black" by Johnny Cash_

I'd always liked a well-fitting suit. I liked the way it would conceal most of my body even as it revealed it to its best effect. Thankfully, I always kept several suits on hand in my safe-room at Fangtasia. I picked up the Authority-issued sweat suit that I'd thrown on the floor before I took my shower. I wadded it up and threw it into the trashcan, feeling quite satisfied as I did so. I was goddamned tired of being dressed like Bill. It made me feel somewhat "lame," given the way Bill usually dressed.

I grabbed my favorite—a black on black suit that I had used to intimidate many a being in my time. It fit my mood as well as it fit my body.

I couldn't help but to smile a little as I recalled Johnny Cash commenting on a very similar suit that I'd been wearing when I met him in 1954. I'd been in Memphis and had run across the struggling singer at a little club where he was singing rock'a'billy. He'd liked my look, and I'd liked his music. I wasn't surprised when he became famous soon after that. I also wasn't surprised when I saw him wearing all black years later. It was a good look, after all.

As I buttoned up my shirt and tried to mentally prepare for what was to come, I sighed. Before my shower, I had quickly checked the feed from the surveillance system which had been monitoring Russell's concrete prison. Sure enough, the equipment had been triggered by Russell's "liberation."

From the footage, I had learned three things. First, Russell had been broken out on Halloween night, at roughly the same time Bill and I had been tied to a stake by Marnie/Lafayette. Second, that fact proved that Bill hadn't done it—at least not personally. Third, it had taken two hours for the "liberator" to get to Russell, which meant that I would have had plenty of time to stop it had I not been tied to a fucking stake at the time!

Not for the first time, I wished that I had been the one who had gotten to kill Marnie. Of course, paradoxically, I owed her too. Without her, there would have been no Sookie and me. There would have been no bond. And though part of me knew that my life would be much less complicated without Sookie and our bond in it, I couldn't fathom going back to the way I was.

"No," I shook my head and spoke the denial out loud. There was no fucking way I would trade the bond for anything—except Sookie's life. I _would_ trade it for that.

I shook my head again and considered the fourth and most important clue I got from the surveillance video. The vampire that had freed Russell from the cement had been clever enough to obscure his or her appearance. However, despite that, my instincts told me that the vampire was a "she," based upon both the figure's size and movement. I had fucked many, _many_ vampiresses in my long life—and fucked them well. I knew how they moved, and I could identify the supple sway of a feminine hip when I saw one.

I sighed. For now, I was going to keep my hypothesis close to the vest. But I had several prime suspects for whom the vampiress on the video was, but I didn't really want it to be any of them.

Suspect number one was Pam. Did she hate Sookie enough to break Russell out in the hopes that he would kill her? Was she angry enough at me to betray me in that way? Or had she viewed it as a warped attempt at protecting me? I had felt bitterness and guilt from her in the last several days. I sighed, knowing that I would have to go forward with my plans to test her loyalty.

Suspect number two was Jessica. Bill may have been tied to me with silver chains when Russell was freed, but Jessica was not. I couldn't help but to wonder why Bill hadn't called his child to him that night. He'd said it was to keep her safe from Marnie/Lafayette. However, I couldn't be certain of that.

I chuckled. Bill was likely just as suspicious of me for not calling Pam. My own reasoning had been twofold. Yes. I wanted to keep her safe, and—frankly—given the way that Marnie/Lafayette had controlled our bodies and easily put us on that stake, I didn't think Pam could do any good anyway. But most of all, I'd not called her because of what was coming from her end of the bond that night. I feared that if she saw Sookie, she would harm her. Pam had been furious at me, and though her bitterness had turned to sadness by the end of the night, I hadn't wanted to risk calling her during the Marnie situation.

Suspect number three was Salome. If the beautiful seductress were a Sanguinista, then she would be an excellent candidate for freeing Russell. However, how would she have known about Russell's whereabouts? Could she be Russell's child—a child he'd kept secret all this time? Or could have the Authority been watching me in the days leading up to or following Russell's entombment? I tried to remember my movements around that time. Had I gotten sloppy? Certainly, I'd been distracted by my thirst to fulfill my thousand-year-old pledge to my human father and avenge my parents' deaths. And I'd been expecting to die right alongside Russell. Added to those things, Godric's appearance into the situation shook me to the core. I still wasn't sure if my visions of Godric were "real" somehow or just in my head, but either way, each one seemed to affect me more than the last. And then there was Sookie. She had suddenly disappeared the very night that I'd put Russell into the cement.

And—for lack of a better word—I felt "empty" during that time: empty because vengeance had done nothing to make me feel better, empty because I missed the feeling of the new tie that drinking Sookie's blood had created between us. I'd felt my own blood in her before, but having hers inside of me completed the circuit.

I sighed. Yes, I had been distracted in those days. But was it possible that I was distracted to the point that I missed someone following me? The answer to that question was an unfortunate, "maybe."

Nora was suspect number 4. And there was evidence mounting that my sister was a Sanguinista. Could she have been influenced by Salome to join the radical group? Salome had reported that she'd been the one to recruit Nora for the Authority, so it made sense that she still had influence over her. Nora had always been a passionate follower of her beliefs. So if her mind had been twisted, she may have followed the one who twisted it with as much fervor as she'd always followed Godric's teachings before.

I sighed as I smoothed out my lapel and took in my appearance in the mirror. If Salome were Sanguinista, my chances of survival would be much lower, but I'd prefer her being the one who had let out Russell over any of my other suspects.

The problem was that my preferences didn't account for jack-shit right now.

Sure, it would be nice if the vampiress in the surveillance footage were a random, nameless Sanguinista—or maybe even "Bad-pearls" from the Authority—but my gut was telling me that someone I knew—maybe even someone I loved—had dug up my greatest enemy.

And—for better or worse—my gut was an accurate son of a bitch where things like this were concerned.

I smoothed my hair and left my safe-room. Pam had not been at Fangtasia when Bill and I arrived earlier, so I had quickly closed things down and sent everyone home. Bill had been using the computer in my office to try to find out any relevant information on the Sanguinistas, but I doubted there was anything to find on the Internet that I had not already seen.

My excuse for "disappearing" downstairs for a while had been to shower away the stench of the Authority. Thankfully, I had been more or less successful. However, I knew that I'd be unable to remove the stench of what I was about to do to my progeny.

I let my mind move fully to my bond with Sookie for a moment as I climbed the basement stairs—stairs that I wished still held the scent of my bonded from when she'd burst in to find me balls deep in the Estonian dancer. I had used Yvetta for a while to numb my grief for my maker and to cover up my desire for Sookie. She had an extremely pleasing mouth when she'd been using it on my cock, but when she'd used it to spout ridiculous ideas about what she thought she meant to me, her usefulness had been outlived.

In fact, I hadn't fucked Yvetta again after that night. How could I go back to Yvetta when I'd just seen the vision in lavender that Sookie had been? How could I return to the cheap perfume clinging to Yvetta's body when I'd just smelled the sunlight on Sookie's skin?

In my thousand years, Sookie was the only lover that I had craved—the only one that I could imagine myself craving for years to come. By nature, vampires were not faithful creatures. Sex—like blood—was used to feed our immediate cravings. And being with the same partner got boring after a while. Even a human Pam—who I had desired quite a bit—would have bored me after a few encounters. There was something about Sookie, however, that felt different. I wondered if it could be the fact that she was part fairy that drew me to her and made me want to stay by her side. Frankly, "_what_ it was" didn't much matter to me. "_That_ it was" was what mattered.

I lingered on the staircase for a moment, closed my eyes, and remembered the way that Sookie's scent had cut through the smells of sex and blood that had collected in the basement. Like everything else about her, he scent had been a breath of life into my undeath.

Through the bond, I could feel that Sookie was teetering. In the last twenty minutes, there had been moments when she had felt a glimmer of hope inside of her sorrow. There had been moments when she no longer felt so alone. I wondered who she had gone to. Lafayette? Tara? Her brother? The shifter? The Were? My mind seethed at the last two possibilities.

I exited the basement and slammed the door behind me, imagining that Herveaux and Merlotte were both losing their heads in the action. I felt slightly better at that thought.

Bill was now sitting in the main club and had helped himself to a TruBlood. He had, of course, heard the slam.

"Okay?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Just missing the good old days when I was able to carry around my sword all the time."

"Probably best that you cannot," Bill smirked.

"Probably," I relented. Decapitating Sookie's potential paramours—though personally satisfying—would get me nowhere closer to being with her myself. "Find anything?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing we can use." He took in my suit. "You look like an undertaker."

I chuckled, even though the sound was hollow. "I feel like one too."

Bill nodded in understanding. To the younger vampire's credit, he seemed to intuit the kind of damage I aimed to inflict upon my progeny.

Without another word, I went to my throne.

I was hoping to create a strong effect—just from my appearance. I had to play a role. And it didn't matter that I wanted to play it even less than the one I'd had to play with Salome the night before. This time, I wouldn't have to fuck, but I would be fucking over my progeny—my beautiful child. Most vampires swore that they were incapable of love, and I had been no different before Sookie had come into my life. But just because I was quick to deny love didn't mean that I couldn't feel it.

When Sookie had dared to "accuse" me of loving Godric while we were in the Fellowship church, I had denied it by instinct. I could tell by her eyes that she had known that I was lying. However, she'd let it go. I wondered if those sharp eyes of hers had seen the irony of the moment as much as I'd been able to feel it at the time. I'd denied my ability to love to the very person that I was—even then—falling for.

I sighed. Of course, I loved my progeny, though I'd never said those words out loud. But Pam had made it clear that she hated Sookie. And therein lay my only doubt in my child. Did she hate Sookie so much and hate the fact that I loved her so much that she would release my greatest enemy?

The truth was that Pam could be manipulative. After all, she was a vampire because she had manipulated me. And Pam was spoiled. Still—I didn't want to think that she could be that vindictive. Not with me, at least.

I sighed. Because of the newness of my bond with Sookie, my lingering grief over my maker, and the rejection that I felt from my bonded one—in addition to the clusterfuck I was in the middle of—my emotions were so fucking twisted that I hardly knew up from down anymore. Thus, I couldn't fully trust what I felt through my bond with Pam. However, I knew that I could trust my eyes when it came to Pam. She would be unable to hide her guilt from me if she were guilty.

But to see what I needed to see, I would have to break her. She would have to think that I was turning my back on her just as Sookie had turned hers on me. It was the only way that I could know for sure. I just hoped that she would forgive me when it was all done.

I had shut down my bond with Pam in order to protect her from my pain as I'd been tortured. I also hadn't wanted her to be able to track me. Knowing that a "surprise attack" would be best, I'd kept it closed as we'd approached Shreveport. I planned to reopen the bond fully at an opportune moment—to hit her with a blow more damaging that anything I could do with my fists.

From my bond with my child, I stripped away all pity and remorse. I hid all affection and love. I let the bond chill like a bitter night in the land where I grew up.

I leaned back in my throne—a throne that had been Pam's marketing ploy—and waited for my progeny.

* * *

I felt her coming, and with her was her new child. When they were at the door to the bar, I smelled that it was Tara Thornton. Oh well. At least her being undead would match the "lie" that I had told to Bill the other day, and it proved that I was one hell of a deducer. However, that was of little comfort to me now.

I steeled myself as Pam came in cursing Ginger. My child was agitated and flustered, but she had no idea of my presence yet.

"Where is everyone?" she yelled angrily as she walked into the bar that we had started together.

_Together_.

"I sent them all home," I said, my voice stony. In that moment, I needed to show her the vampire—not the maker, not the father, not the friend.

"Sookie fucking did it," Pam said with surprise and gratefulness in her eyes.

Even though I didn't know the context of Pam's words, I couldn't have agreed with them more. Sookie _had_ done a great many things. She had changed me fundamentally. She had loved me. She had rejected me. She was—even as I sat there—rejecting herself, hating herself.

Pam, however, seemed to believe that Sookie had done something to get me to come back. Maybe she was right in a way.

I could see Pam's façade rising to cover her happiness that I was back, and then I felt her fear. My first instinct was to comfort my child, but I stayed cold and expressionless.

Pam had every right to be afraid of me. We had not seen each other since I ordered her away after she'd aimed a goddamned rocket at my bonded—at the woman I loved! Despite Pam's protests that she didn't know what love was, she would have been able to feel the great emotion I had for Sookie. Yet she had disobeyed me and launched that rocket anyway.

It wasn't her disobedience that had hurt me the most about her action either. It was the fact that she would risk that which I loved. Could I ever trust her again if she was willing to do that?

I felt my anger over her actions and my current impossible situation rise in me like a prayer answered. That anger eclipsed Sookie's sorrow for the moment. It distracted me from my own emptiness at being away from her. It numbed me to the fact that she'd rejected me. And, most importantly, it anesthetized me to what I needed to do to Pam.

"Well," Pam said in a tone that could only be described as half-snarky and half-apprehensive, "no need for apologies—right? I'm certainly not waitin' for one. Barely remember what we got all head up over."

Pam and I had not often fought over our years together—at least not about anything major. And I'd never sent her from my sight as I'd done at the witch's store. Thus, I knew that her memory was just as good as mine about the situation. Still, she was trying to brush the episode away—which only raised my ire more.

"Let bygones be bygones," she said, her eyes pleading just a little, "bi-girls be bi-girls," she added, obviously trying to charm me with her humor. It had worked so many times in the past that I couldn't blame her for attempting to use it now.

Obviously nervous, Pam was so focused on me that she hadn't noticed Bill. She looked at him with both surprise and disdain. "Oh. Hi," she said by way of a greeting.

I was ready to get the show on the road, but I did not want to do it with the newest member of my line present, so I feigned ignorance as I looked over Pam's shoulder at Tara. "Why is she here?" I asked as if I didn't know.

Pam looked nervous despite the fact that I had given her my blessing to make a child more than a year before. "Uh," Pam started, "she's mine. I—uh—made her vampire while you were gone." My child smiled apprehensively. "Congratulations! You're a grandfather."

I took in the blood on Tara's clothing and the scent of my 'grandchild.' From the smell of her own burnt flesh lingering on her, she had obviously tried to kill herself—most likely using an X-ray machine or a tanning bed. I'd seen many new vampires who'd not wanted to be turned do similar things.

I felt myself looking down for a moment, wondering what sequence of events had led to Tara's turning. I couldn't help but to worry about Sookie and posit that her concern over her friend was—at least in part—driving her current state of grief. Tara obviously hadn't wanted to be a vampire—hadn't chosen it—if she were already trying to kill herself. That meant that Sookie had likely chosen it for her. Having seen the volatile nature of Tara before, I figured her reaction to Sookie had been devastating for my bonded one.

I looked over at Bill and saw a similar expression on his face. However, as much as both of us would have liked to be with Sookie right then, we had a job to do. Plus, we were sporting devices that would lead the Authority to wherever we were. And I didn't want them anywhere near the woman I loved.

"Would you mind?" I asked Bill, giving him a significant look as I did. I was glad that he took the hint and led Tara from the room.

Pam's trepidation became even clearer as soon as the others had left. Her eyes were wide and fearful as she asked me, "What's wrong? What's happened?"

I let her see no emotion in my own eyes as I leveled a stare at her—a stare that I knew would make her crumble if I kept it up. Pam might posture about the uselessness of human emotions, and she certainly judged me for my own emotions regarding Sookie, but she had plenty.

I paused as I steeled myself once more. I didn't want to hurt Pam. I knew that she loved me. I knew that her distress and her hatred of Sookie were fueled by jealousy and worry. She feared that Sookie would replace her in my affections. She felt apprehensive because she'd never "felt" me so emotional as I'd become over Sookie. Pam had always been fearful of what the future might bring. She had worried about growing old when she was a Madame. And now she worried about being alone—abandoned by me.

I knew that she was right where I needed her to be emotionally. I knew that the kind of torture I was about to inflict upon her would cause much more damage than the silver that had been injected into my veins the night before.

But I had to do it. I was out of the chair in a blink and had Pam on her back on the bar in another one. And at the same time, I opened my bond with her, flooding her with my disappointment in her actions and my anger.

She groaned under my wrath and my hands.

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[_**A/N #2:**_ It bears repeating the disclaimer in the headnote to _Inner_. I don't own the characters or story in this piece. They belong to Charlaine Harris, Alan Ball, and the other creative forces behind _True Blood_. Because of the nature of this piece, some of the dialogue has been transcribed here; however, no copyright infringement is intended.

Thanks for all the reviews and comments about the last chapter! I love reading what you all have to say, and I'm really happy that many of you have stuck with me, despite the hiatus.

Remember, if you want to see the story with "reminder" pics, check it out on my WordPress site. (californiakat1564 . wordpress . com). And—if you have time—review and tell me what you think. If you don't have time, then read and run.]


	14. Chapter 14: Paradoxes

[_**A/N:**_ Again, please excuse any editing/proofreading errors.]

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_**Context:** _This scene picks up right after the last chapter. It is an "extended scene."

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**Chapter 14: Paradoxes**

_I knew that she was right where I needed her to be emotionally. I knew that the kind of torture I was about to inflict upon her would cause much more damage than the silver that had been injected into my veins the night before. _

_ But I had to do it. I was out of the chair in a blink and had Pam on her back on the bar in another one. And at the same time, I opened my bond with her, flooding her with my disappointment in her actions and my anger._

_ She groaned under my wrath and my hands. _

My fingers were poised around Pam's throat, squeezing just enough for her to know that I could kill her with a slight twist of my wrist. The fear and betrayal coming from my progeny's eyes and from her side of our bond almost broke my resolve.

But I held onto my rage.

"Did you free Russell?" I began, my voice controlled and steely.

"What?" Pam asked, shaking her head. "Of course not," she said, trying to smile a little. "Eric, what's all this about?"

"It's about disobedience," I said, still holding her with my hand and my stare. "It's about disloyalty."

"If this is about the fairy, Eric," she started.

"This is _not_ about Sookie!" I seethed, even though I knew it mostly was. For better or worse, everything came back to my bonded for me now.

"Eric, you've changed. Surely you can see how bad she is for you. You would've never," she began again.

"Never what?" I asked, letting my voice return to coldness. "Never punished you for your _direct_ defiance of an order?"

She had to croak out her response since I was applying more pressure to her throat now. "She wasn't worth your life. I couldn't let you kill yourself for her."

"Let me?" I asked austerely. "That was not your decision to make, Pamela. Did you let Russell out to kill her? To get back at me?"

"Eric," she shook her head in denial. "I would never do anything to hurt you."

I let my rage take over. "Stop fucking lying!" I yelled down at her as my fangs clicked into place. The truth was that Pam killing Sookie _would_ have hurt me—more than anything else that she could ever do, including letting Russell out.

Yes. My own death would bring me a moment of pain when it came. However, it would be nothing compared to the pain of losing Sookie. The last year without her—I realized—had been my greatest torture. Facing her rejection would be also torment me, but seeing her dead would truly kill me.

"I'm not lying. I swear," Pam whimpered, even as I grunted out my anger above her. I squeezed a little harder.

I'd never seen my child more afraid, more ready to break. But it wasn't quite enough. I would have to push again.

"I don't know where Russell is," she promised.

Her face told me that she wasn't lying. My instincts told me that she wasn't lying. But there was a flash of hesitation—of guilt—in our bond as she said the words.

I let go of her throat, turned from her, and retracted my fangs.

That flash meant that at least part of her was glad that Russell was out—most certainly because she hoped that he would kill Sookie now that he was.

And in that moment—even as I felt another blast of self-loathing from Sookie—I felt some for myself too. I should have tried to explain to Pam what Sookie meant to me before we went to the witch's lair. However, I had barely been able to admit it to myself and to Sookie that I loved her. Making things so much my difficult, my revelation to Sookie was met with the admission that she loved Bill too. The hardest part to take had been her telling me that she thought it might be just our blood that had made her love us—that she didn't know if the love she felt was even real.

What hurt the most was the knowledge that she might be right. Getting Bill's blood after she'd been shot had clearly affected her feelings for him. Getting mine could have done the same.

Before she'd had my blood in Dallas, she'd obviously been attracted to me, but that was not something that would automatically lead to love. After that, she'd shown me moments of affection, such as when she'd reached out and briefly taken my hand on the Dallas rooftop. Or when she'd washed my feet.

Had those actions—the very actions that I clung to as the greatest kindnesses I'd ever been shown—been because of my blood in her? Only because of that?

Even now the fear of that possibility welled inside of me, and I was glad that my back was still turned to Pam. Complicating things even more was the fact that even if Sookie's love was real, it might not be for "me." She had fallen in love with the shell of me—the me without my memories. She'd told me honestly that she would have never allowed the "old" me—the _real_ me—into her bed.

Were the few drops of my blood that made it inside of her enough to make her love me and not just to fuel her lust for me? Had she loved me before she took my blood again in the cubby? I could tell from the bond that she did have love for me now, but what if it was only for the "me" that had none of his memories? Could she love the "real" me—the vampire I was underneath the projection I showed to the world? She'd seen him more clearly than anyone else ever had, yet she'd walked away from him—from me.

Or was all the love she felt for me just an illusion created in her because of my blood? The "old" me wouldn't have given a fuck where her love had originated from, but the "real" me was truly scared for the first time in my life—but not of Russell or of the Authority or even of my own true death.

I was scared that even if we all did live through this shit-storm, I would have to face the inevitable fact that my blood would one day fade away from Sookie altogether—unless we exchanged two more times and made our connection permanent. The bond itself would always remain inside of me, but without more exchanges, it would become empty of Sookie—empty of life.

And that thought carved into me.

I seemed to have an innate desire to make my bond with Sookie permanent, but if we did that, she would always doubt her own feelings for me. On the other hand, if my blood faded in her, she might find that she had never really loved me at all.

Godric chose me as his child because he had thought me brave. Now I felt anything but. The bravest thing for me to do would be to wait—to let my blood in Sookie run its course until I could no longer feel her emotions in the bond and it became a tomb of loss and memory. Only then would she know if what she felt for me was real. But given the strength of our bond, how long would that take? Long before it was gone, she would likely seek out love from a Were or a shifter—someone she couldn't "hear" as well with her gift. Thus, by the time she could be sure, any love she might have legitimately felt for me would likely be lost to the ravages of time itself.

Could I face going on with a heart full of love for Sookie and a bond that I would always feel, but would never again be filled by her light? The fact that I couldn't answer that question scared the fuck out of me.

My thoughts were brought back to Pam as I heard her slowly rise from the bar behind me.

Yes. Before we'd gotten to the witch's shop, I _should_ have told Pam of Sookie's importance to me. I _should_ have assured her that she would always be my beloved child, even though my romantic affections were all reserved for only Sookie now. I _should_ have reassured her that there would always be a place for her in my life and in my dead heart. Instead, I had allowed Pam's hatred of Sookie to fester to the point that I actually thought she might have freed Russell Edgington. I now doubted the one who had stood by my side for over a hundred years, and it was my own goddamned fault.

My head swirled with more paradoxes. Perhaps, it was my _certainty_ of my child's innocence that made me doubt her. I had been _certain_ that Sookie would see my love for her and feel the love we had together in the bond, but—thinking that love might not be real—she had turned away from me. I had been _certain_ that Nora had not been a radical Sanguinista, but now I felt in my core that she likely was just that. I had been _certain_ that Russell would remain secured in his concrete prison until he rotted, but I'd been dead wrong about that. I had been _certain_ that I could fight or think my way out of any situation that found me, but now I had a tiny wooden bullet trained over my heart and ready to kill me because there was a fucking App for that! I had been so _certain_ of so many things for so long, and none of them seemed to carry any surety anymore.

"What's happened to you?" Pam asked with such grief in her voice that my knees threatened to buckle. She took a step toward me. I had never felt such pride in her for taking that step. She was afraid of me, but she was not ready to run. She was afraid _for_ me, so she was not willing to run.

"A century together," she said, her tone betraying her hurt, "and never once have I ever done anything to hurt you—to hurt us. How could you think that I would go and dig up Russell Edgington?"

Pam was right. In a century together, she'd never hurt me, and she'd always been loyal. And I loved her. However, I hated her too because she was also wrong—dead wrong. What she had tried to do to Sookie had shaken me. As Pam had fired that rocket at my beloved, I had felt my life slipping into oblivion. With a single pull of a trigger, Pam had betrayed a hundred years of trust. Her motives were—no doubt—to save me. And I couldn't help but to agree with her action to some extent, given the fact that the witch had eventually been defeated. I would have died the true death if Pam hadn't intervened.

Yes. Pam had been right. My death in front of the witch's store wouldn't have made Sookie any better off. And I would have been dead for no reason.

Both my and Compton's willingness to die for Sookie in front of the witch's shop was ill-thought-out and idiotic. But it had been what I had wanted at the time. Yes. Pam saved my life. And I _did_ love her for that. But she hated the woman I loved more than my own life. If my actions demonstrated nothing else, they demonstrated that. Yet even now, I knew that Pam loathed Sookie and was angry at me because I'd chosen her.

The saying that there was a fine line between love and hate had become a cliché for a reason. It was fucking true.

"You're my maker, Eric, and I would die for you gladly a thousand times before I would ever betray you," Pam vowed, even as tears fell from her eyes. "You know I would."

I _did_ know that Pam was telling the truth. She _would_ die for me without question and without regret. But I also knew that she didn't recognize that her disobedience at Marnie's shop had been the biggest betrayal of me that she could make. That was the paradox and the reason why I had needed to put Pam through all this so that I could be sure. Could she have released Russell in an irrational attempt to protect me from Sookie? To protect me from my own feelings?

And still there was hesitation from Pam in our bond. There was guilt. And I _had_ to know why that was there.

"Well, you'd be a fool," I said with cold cruelty. And then I uttered the words that I knew would hurt her worst of all. "I trust no one. You shouldn't either."

In that moment, I couldn't help but to wonder if my words were true, and I felt broken by them right along with Pam. Just two nights before, I'd been contemplating adding Bill Compton to the short list of people I trusted, but now the entire concept of trust had so many holes in it that I could hardly believe that I'd ever believed in "trust" at all. Godric and Pam and Nora—it was those three whom I had trusted for so long.

Godric had chosen death over life—over me—and I felt the same kind of betrayal from that action that Pam must have felt when I chose to die for Sookie. I had chosen Sookie over her—and over myself—and that must have crushed my child. Had that moment irrevocably damaged all of the trust between us?

If she'd aligned herself with the Sanguinistas, Nora had chosen to disavow herself from all of Godric's teachings and all of her former compassion for humans. Admiring Lillith as a figure was one thing, but participating in a radical movement to establish vampires as feudal lords over humans was based on the same twisted notions that had ruled humans like Hitler. I was no innocent when it came to my treatment of humans, and I still felt that vampires were superior in most ways. But I had human parents. Part of me was human, and failing to see that kinship was madness.

Sookie. I sighed even as I continued to cling to her in our bond. Could it be that Sookie Stackhouse was the being that I now trusted the most—or, rather, the only being who could teach me to trust again?

It was another fucking paradox too!

She had left me—just like Godric. She had betrayed me by disavowing and ignoring the bond. And I fucking hated her for doing both of those things.

But—then again—she had no idea of the bond's significance because I'd not had a chance to tell her of it.

Before we even had the bond, Sookie had stopped on a roadside at night because she recognized me walking there. Not a minute later, I threatened her because she smelled so damned good that I could hardly control myself in my amnesic state. I chased her, planning to devour her blood during the whole pursuit. I was aroused by the hunt. Her blood thudded in her veins. I wanted to fuck her as I drained her. Yet a simple hit from her—one that hardly hurt, despite my whining to the contrary—stopped me.

I now recognized that two things kept me from draining her that night: my gut and her eyes. My gut told me that I shouldn't hurt her, that she was important to me. And I trusted it. Her eyes told me that she wanted to believe that I wouldn't hurt her—to believe in me. She trusted me.

"Trust me," I told her in Dallas as we stood in the Fellowship Church. Even then, her eyes had told me that she did—despite a preponderance of evidence that she shouldn't. Hell—if I were her, I wouldn't have trusted me.

I broke her trust later that same night by tricking her to take my blood. Yet she still trusted me. She came to me for help when she and Jessica found the car of Bill's kidnappers. She trusted me enough to go to Jackson with a Were just because I'd sent him to her. She trusted me enough to be crushed when I told her I felt nothing for her in Russell's mansion. She trusted me enough to come to Fangtasia to ask me why she shouldn't trust Bill. She trusted me enough to drag me inside from the burning sun after I had once more betrayed her trust by locking her in my basement and then taking her blood without her permission. She trusted me not to hurt her when I couldn't even remember my own fucking name! She trusted that I was not going to harm her the night she found me at the foot of her bed―with my fangs out—after I'd had that fucked up vision of Godric.

She even trusted the amnesic me with her already-assaulted heart. She just didn't trust _herself_ enough to know that I had given her my own dead heart in return. Yes. Maybe I could trust again. Maybe I was braver than I'd thought.

Maybe love made people do fucked up things. Love had caused Sookie to run from me—from both Bill and me—because of the idiotic notion that we'd all be hurt less if she did. Love had caused Godric to make sure I was safe by ordering me away even as he prepared to meet the sun. Love had caused Nora to risk her position—and likely her fucked up cause—in order to try to save my life. Love had caused Pam to disobey me and fire a rocket at the woman I loved.

Maybe love was so fucked up because it required trust in order to be real, and "trust" had _a lot_ of fucking holes in it.

I sighed internally. I was the "fool" that I'd just accused Pam of being. And I was a liar. I _did_ trust. I still did. And that's why I was hurting right now, even as I was hurting my child.

Her desolate tone once more broke me out of my thoughts. "If I mean so little to you," she cried, "then why keep me around?"

Her voice showed her bitterness and anger now. Once more, pride for her surged through me as I turned around slowly to look at her, even as I hated myself for the pain I was causing her. From her words and from the feeling I was getting from her end of the bond, I knew that she was about to say what I needed to hear. But her words would also sever something between us that we would never get back. They would dissolve the _blind_ trust that we had always had in each other before.

Yes. I _did_ still trust, and I hoped that Pam and I could trust each other again, but it was time for both of us to learn that to trust blindly was folly.

"If you can't trust me more than Bill Compton or—or—a Werewolf for Christ's sake, then release me and get it over with," she said, her voice stronger now.

I looked her in the eyes, every single bit of my energy focusing on them. Godric had taught me that when torture was used—and make no mistake, I knew that's exactly what I'd been subjecting my child to—there was a moment of crisis right before the one being tortured gave up the last shred of information. There was a resolution in the tortured person in that moment, and it was a sign that he or she was going to admit that which would hurt him or her the most.

For Pam, that moment was here, and I knew that after it, I would be absolutely certain that my progeny had had nothing to do with Russell's release. It needed to happen, but after it did, nothing would ever be the same.

"Just say the words," she begged, even as her voice betrayed the hope that I never would, "'As your maker,'" she said, pausing after every word as if it hurt her physically, "'I release you.' Say it, and we're done!"

I said nothing as I studied her and waited.

"Say it!" she yelled.

She had broken. And she was innocent.

Yes—she hated Sookie. Yes—part of her wanted to kill her. Yes—part of her wanted Russell to kill her now that he was out of the ground. But I knew in that moment that she had not betrayed me. She was willing to suffer that which she feared the most: my abandonment of her. And she was willing to suffer it in order to prove herself to me.

Indeed, I felt great pride in my progeny, and—finally—I opened our bond fully to let her feel it too. She looked up at me with confused eyes.

Yes. I loved my child. But I also knew that before the night was over, I would have to release her—not in anger and not because I thought she had betrayed me. The last thing I would do if I really thought she had betrayed me was to release her. I would kill her or at least keep her under my power so that I could order her to do as I bid.

No. I would release her so that we could begin rebuilding the trust between us. I knew that we would have to be on more equal footing to do it.

However, in releasing her, I was going to lose a great deal of my connection to her. I would no longer feel her emotions as I did now. And I would no longer be an immediate presence inside of her either. We would each be able to sense that the other was alive, but that was about it. I would still be able to call her if I wanted to, but she would not have to answer my call. In fact, either one of us could fully dampen our remaining connection after I released her.

As I waited for Pam to calm down and to accept the affection that I was now sending her, I recalled standing outside of the Fellowship of the Sun church in Dallas with Isobel. I couldn't even feel Godric's presence there. It took Sookie's message through a fucking bellboy to confirm that Godric was there, for he had chosen to shut himself off fully from me by that time. I hadn't even known if he was alive or dead. I vowed that I would never do that to Pam—unless it was to protect her.

"What the fuck, Eric?" Pam squeaked a little.

Slowly, I walked the few steps between us. With my thumb, I gently brushed away some of her tears, bent down, and kissed her on the forehead.

Her expression showed her confusion at my gesture.

"I hope that you and I will always be connected, Pamela," I said in a soft voice, meant to start the healing that would have to occur between us now. "I am sorry that I had to hurt you, but I had to be sure."

She gasped. "That was an act?" her voice sounded almost as betrayed as before.

"A necessary one," I said, as I wondered how my voice could sound both stern and contrite in the same moment.

"I understand," she said shakily even though I knew she didn't yet.

"Go clean your beautiful face before your child comes." I smiled a little. "We—none of us—like seeing our makers in pain, dotter. We will talk more later," I promised.

She nodded before turning to walk to the employee washroom even as I went to speak to Bill.

I may have tortured Pam tonight in order to find out for sure that she hadn't betrayed me, but—unless I had no other choice—I would never put her through the torment of not feeling anything from me again. I would not abandon her as Godric had abandoned me when he'd walked into that Fellowship church.

I sighed. I would abandon neither my child nor the woman I loved―even if I had to let them both go.

Fucking paradoxes.

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[_**A/N 2:**_ Thanks for reading! I appreciate your support.

I might not have the next chapter ready for a week or so. I have in-laws coming this week, and the house must be cleaned from top to bottom.]


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